Hatred's Mirror
by SilverQ10
Summary: The story of a god who can't keep his promise, and a boy who forces himself to keep his. No matter the cost. If you bleed, you must be alive, if your chest hurts, you must have a heart that's breaking, if you've cried, you must have had tears to begin with. This is not a pity story, but its a story just the same.
1. Summary

**SUMMARY**

There is only one thing that makes gods and man seem like the same. Promises, Oaths, Vows, even curses. They all keep us linked. So what happens if one god chooses not to keep his promise? And a boy determined to keep his own, no matter the cost. Will he get become another pawn in the very game the gods play, or will his iron bound destiny force him to make a choice: become a pawn willingly, or play god and move a few pawns himself.

The choice, unfortunately, is easier than he'd like to admit.


	2. Warning

**Warning**

This story is about Octavian [a character owned by Rick Rordian]. It does contain some theories of 'Pro-Octavianists' out there, but I have only picked out a few that I felt fit to build the story in terms of character development. This story belongs to me, of course. I mean no offence to anyone who may feel so, and I apologize beforehand for such a farfetched story… I write it as it comes to me ;)


	3. Chapter 1

**INTRO**

Okay, this is just the story of Octavian as he grew up. Nothing really fancy. Friendship. Betrayal. Bloodshed... you guys know the drill ;)

Other than that, I do not think that this story will go into like R-rates, years 15 and up most likely.

I hope you enjoy what I write, and this is my first story, so go easy on the criticism.

**CHAPTER 01: DESTINY'S IRON BIND**

"No."

"But-!"

"No, and there will be no more discussion about this! Am I clear, boy?" The stern hard voice of a burly barrel-chested man spoke in alto. A small boy tried not to flinch under his unforgiving gaze, "A scrawny thing like you heading for a position like that is not only deplorable, it's downright stupid. Your mother has embarrassed us enough, I will not have you tainting out name any further." With those last sharp words the man stomped off into the house, leaving the lanky little boy, his shoulder's shaking, and his courage once again shot down.

After dinner he went into his room and snuck out through the window. Sneaking into the streets he found the older more cobble-stone like roads and followed them. He didn't care where it took him, he could find his way back, he always did. The patter of little footsteps echoed off the tall walls of the buildings, making stray cats scamper away into the shadows and dogs nearby bark; passing some statues, an old fountain and combing through the small forest of tall pine trees, he found the place. The Jupiter Optimus Maximus and all its roman architecture, pillars, arches, doorways and all. The hill where it sat had an amazing view of the city, all the lights made it look like the city was actually a city of stars. Hundreds of them, each as dazzling as the next, and each glowing from a home below. The blonde smiled at that thought, "I hope they have a better family than I do…" As he sat down in the grass he looked up at the black expanse of the world above, speckled and dusted with silver stars and a deep blue so mesmerizing it made his head spin. All this silence didn't bother him, it never really was silence, there were birds after all. Always. A tweet and a soft chirp here and there usually made their presence known. Pressing his lips together he whistled too, often in reply to a lonely bird, or often to just whistle. His eyes shot up to the sky when he saw hot white dash across the sky only to fall on the opposite end of the city and disappear under the horizon. Tears came straight after, blurring his vision, "My mother has done nothing wrong… I have done nothing wrong… And yet, we are still hated…" small bursts of soft laughter made his little chest bounce. "Well screw you guys…" The boy closed his eyes, "I made a promise. And I plan on keeping it." And with those final words he got up and made his way into the temple.

The young man with curly brown hair looked up and smiled, his honey brown eyes glowed from the flames as they ate away at the offering, "I thought your father said you weren't coming."

"He is not my father, and never will be." The blonde came closer to the Augur to watch what he was doing. After some silence he pursed his lips and looked down shyly, "Thanks… for teaching me, sir..."

A crackle and a pop made the boy look up, suddenly alarmed by the loud noise, the Augur having seen this smiled, obviously amused, and patted his head, "No prob. Call me Milo. And I suppose you want me to call you by your first name?"

"Yes. Octavian." Milo nodded and began to teach the boy.

"You will have to sneak in here every morning, early too, and in the evening, and in the night… can you handle that?"

"Just make sure you arrive early Milo." The Augur looked surprised and then laughed, patting Octavian on the back hard enough to make his body quake.

"You've got moxy, huh? Oh, and I almost forgot, you need to swear in."

"Don't I need to do this in front of the council?" Milo shrugged, he wasn't being helpful right now.

"The council stopped hearing the Augury rights to Passage speech for a very long time… it's fine, just say it to me. I'll be your, uh, council." The boy smiled as if this was perfectly normal and up to code.

Octavian fidgeted and couldn't speak. This would be the start of everything, all the pain and he'd have to endure it all alone; he looked up noticing that Milo looked worried, "I'll start now…" he took a deep breath and dove into it. There was no turning back. "I Octavian… promise to withhold all the rules and regulations that were set in place to protect and inspire discipline in the city of New Rome. A city founded by unwavering determination and faith. A city that signifies hope in those who've lost it. A city…" Octavian decided that if he was going to devote whatever time he had left to his plan, then he might as well do something he wanted to do now, and so he made the speech short and ended it the way he always thought it should have ended, "A city whose streets and walls were built to be a home. I swear under the sight of Jupiter that I _will_ protect this city, its people and what it stands for. For as long as I live."

Milo was silent for a while, his face didn't show anything, no approval, no disapproval, nothing, and for a brief moment Octavian thought he had ruined everything. His bottom lip quivered but he bit it down once the brunette sat up. And smiled. "I like it." That smile stretched into a grin and resulted in one of those crazed laughs that was usually riddled with snorts, "I love it actually, maybe you _should_ have spoken to the council after all. Maybe your speech would have made them take Augury seriously again…" Milo got up and clapped Octavian's back as if to say well done, "Alright, I'll see you when I'll see you, kid." Blue eyes watched as the young man sauntered down the hill's pathway and out of sight. There was nothing but change that was coming, and he refused to be left in the dark, or more accurately, thrown away, while the rest of the world moved on. Erased from history.

"I'll see you when I'll see you… Milo…" Octavian sighed and looked at his small hands. He had already managed to burn them, so blisters, both big and small, polka-dotted his arms and palms. The searing hot pain was gone, but as his numbing fingers curled it was back in seconds. 'Hopefully', he thought, 'they will leave me alone for the rest of the week'; his cousins were always in his business and it annoyed him to the point where he thought it would be better that he just lived in the forest. His father would probably be happier if he did. Heading home was the longest walk he ever had. And it felt great. It felt like… progress.

However, progress, like hope, it is not built in a day. It is time that builds and grows progress like the great forests, and all great forest start with one tree. The beginning is where all great stories start, well, at least it is where our story begins, it is up to history to make it great.


	4. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 02: NIGHT SHALL BURN**

There was silence. Peace reigned in the Arabian night, nothing stirred in the houses in the north, even the ocean of sand that carried on into the distant lands, purple and silver under the moonlight, rested under hushed tones, their soft peaks the playground for the warm winds of the summer. It was them that made the usual cold nights bearable. They danced in the empty dirt streets and whisked the smells of fresh bread and familiar spices into a little boy's face, cooling it from the heat inside. The open window's curtains twirled and undulated quietly in the breeze and a blonde boy looked out as if he could see the lands that his mother told him about. She was there, sleeping, buried under the large and heavy cotton covers, the boy smiled as he heard her soft mumbling. There was nothing to do now, nearly everyone was a asleep and those who weren't did not want to be stuck baby-sitting at this time of hour; sometimes his mother would exclaim that she didn't understand why he stayed up late into the night looking for things that are not there. "You are like those birds, they circle the skies and call out in a soft voice to one another… their eyes as wide as saucers as they look to the ground, for what, I could never tell…" He was just about to go back to the warm pile of sheets when he heard a sound. No. Not just any sound, a cry, sharp and loud in the clear air. Poking his head out of the large window he looked out and about to find its origins. A dog scampered off into the streets frantic, as it almost runs straight into a group of men who were preparing clothing and spices and goods to sell in the morning. It dashed to and fro and finally disappeared into the shadows, the men's laughter echoed as they packed up their things. "My love? What are you doing, come back to bed." A stern but tired voice called out from behind him, as he turned he saw his mother, her black hair falling lusciously down her shoulder and her bright honey brown eyes staring back at him with impatience.

"I am sorry, mama," he shuffled back and extinguished the fire with a shower of water from the picture sitting on the small table next to it, the flames died with a rebellious hiss, cascading the room into darkness, the only light being the moon's silver as it poured in and seemed to turn everything silver, "I was just… outing the fire…" His mother did not buy this explanation of course, she raised a brow and arched it perfectly, a smile soon spreading across her full lips. Obviously amused.

"Yes, like you should have done over an hour ago," she motioned for him to come. He climbed into bed and looked up at the woman. She had skin that always reminded him of the cinnamon sticks that was often sold in the market, she often smelled of nutmeg, well, a number of sweet spices. It was because of her job. He didn't ask about it. They never talked about it. Whenever she dressed in her red satin, be-jeweled her black hair and adorned herself with perfumes, no one said anything, she just kissed his head and told him sternly to be careful and stay in the house. Then she was off for the whole day. Now, she dressed in a pale shirt and some baggy pants, now she wasn't just a strange beautiful woman, she was his mother, and it was now, as she stroked his cheek and placed kisses on his face, he felt like he was loved.

"I heard a noise…" She let him into the layers of sheet and pulling him closer she hugged him, she looked outside the window for a while, as if waiting. Finally her warm eyes were looking at his icy blue ones.

"I did too." The blonde buried his face into the crook of her neck, making her laugh, "You haven't done this since you were small… Are you scared?" The boy hid a smile and tried not to giggle. He knew what was coming next, but he acted like he didn't and shook his head ruefully. "No? I thought I heard a monster…" the boy disappeared under the sheets and his mother followed him under, as if it was a world different from the one outside, his mother hushed his giggling, her slender finger to her lips, "I think I heard him…"

"Where?" The blonde looked shocked. The woman looked around and waited as if listening for something.

"Here!" She started tickling him mercilessly, the boy squirmed as his mother playfully blew on his belly, with his pale face red with laughter he managed to get the upper hand and started tickling his mother back, they played underneath the sheet, wiggling and wrestling until they both were exhausted and giggle-happy. The woman ran her hand through her son's hair, she often described it as the color of the fur of the barley whenever the sun ripened it, it was golden but with whitened edges. "Please do not go near the windows at night," the boy frowned. "Please?" His mother batted her eyelashes and pouted but he didn't laugh like he usually did, instead he sniffled as a ball formed at the back of his throat, choking him as the tears filled his eyes to the brim. And the mother cooed comforting words and squeezed her little boy tightly as if she wanted to put the pain within herself instead; she braced herself for the heart-wrenching question

"Why?" His little voice cracked, he could no longer keep it in and he cried, "Why, mama?" She held his shaking figure as he controlled himself, breathing heavily and limiting himself to sobs and sniffles. Soon he was silent.

"I am so sorry. I am so sorry, my little baby…" She wanted to cry too but she had to be strong for him, her sleepless nights weighed down on her appearance. All the rumor. "It is very dangerous for you outside… my people… they are not as accepting as I wished," she kissed his forehead and he sniffled, almost in response. They smiled at each other, "There are things that I should have explained to you long ago, you are my special little boy, but I never told you _how_ special…"

"…I am… so immensely special that you will not punish me for looking out the window…?"

She chuckled, "Not even close." The boy pouted but listened to his mother, "Your father was a foreigner…" she raised a brow, "and do not give me that look, I know you know he was a foreigner-"

"Was he pale like me, mama? And did he have gold hair and blue eyes? Where was he from-"

"My love, he was gorgeous, his hair was brown but it was as if the sun kissed the edges and turned them gold. He had the most beautiful eyes… they were so warm and mischievous," she bit her lip, "and his lips-"

"Ewww!" She laughed and hugged the boy, who had covered his ears when he heard where this conversation was going. He spoke eventually, "do I look like him…?"

"Your eyes." Cool fingers ran across his cheeks, her thumb stroking under his eyes gently as her large hand held the small boy's face, "Both of your eyes looked-"

"Blue?"

"Yes… and old." The boy's brows curved in confusion, but before he could ask any more questions, the night air erupted with screams. The sound of pottery shattering, doors being pounded on and men shouting made both of them shoot out of bed. The mother raced to the window, peeking outside. And there it was, the roaring inferno of orange and red, it ate away at the houses a few paces down the street. Women and children were running down the gravel path; the boy looked up at his mom, his eyes wide and his heart beating like a rabbit's in his small chest, he was waiting for her to say something. Anything. She suddenly covered her mouth in shock and jumped back from the window.

"What is wrong-"

"Shh!" The boy's lip quivered, he didn't understand. The noises grew louder and louder. His mother skirted around him, "Put on your clothes. Now!" she hissed her commands and he obeyed. When he came back he found her frantically shoving some things into a satchel, she snatched some money off the table, a goat-skinned canteen, a few cherries, loaves of bread and hard cheese. "Come with me and do not make a sound understand?" She tore away the sheets, flinging them aside, and took a necklace and shoved it in her pocket. Then she took his hand and lead, or half dragged, him out the door. As she passed worried neighbors she whispered something, a grave look appeared on their faces and they disappeared into their rooms. As the boy ran with his mother passed the doors he could hear the commotion, quarreling and the sound of things being thrown around. As they made their way to the back of the house his mother turned around, "Baby, we have to run really far, do not let go of my hand." She pulled the hood down over his and her face and her hand squeezed his. As she opened the door, the chaos began.

"Mama-", his cry was interrupted by screams much louder than his own, the fire's heat could be felt already. Singing the hairs on their necks. People pushed each other out of their way as they all ran in different directions; his mother turned around and made a run for it, small feet scampered after her own. Men that ran with weapons passed by them, calling out to other men and giving them weapons. Blues eyes gazed back in horror as the fire spread and burned the building they were just in, the sound of metal clashing and pained shrieks coming from the corner they just avoided made him run even faster. The air was thick with smoke and ash and filled with yelling and screaming, he could barely hear his mother's voice telling him to run faster. Run faster? How could his little legs move any faster, his lungs were burning, his throat tired of the dry air and ready to make him vomit, the stinging embers floated and attacked his skin. He pushed on, for the fear of losing his mother in the ever growing sound of war gave him an adrenaline rush.

"We are almost there, my love, we-", she skidded to a halt as men, women, and children, some of them nobles, others street beggars that he often saw every day in the market. They all ran passed them and pushed them aside. He lost grip and screamed for his mother with the little air he could force into his lungs. He lost sight of her in the crowd, it was like they engulfed him, pulled him deeper and deeper. He couldn't even hear her. Panic set in and he couldn't move, all the people around him swarmed in different directions, it was then a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. A harsh slap ricocheted off his cheek and he fell on his butt. He was in shock as he stared at the ground, tears rolling down the tender spot. He looked up and saw strange men wearing an armor that he did not recognize. 'Had he bumped into them?' he thought as he rushed to get back to his feet. They spoke in a strange language too, laughing and jeering at him. One of the men, the one that hit him, pointed to the boy and laughed, he grabbed his neck and thrashed him around like a rag doll. The more he cried the more he was knocked around, so he stopped. He closed his eyes and took his knee and rammed it into the man's crutch. The man bent over and lost grip of the boy, the others glared at him and with their swords in hand they advanced. His head jolted back as the soldier took hold of his hair, preventing him from running; there was no mercy in his cruel eyes, only a toothy grin as he yanked the child's hair up, lifted his squirming body off the ground, and watched him struggle and claw at his hands, desperate for his feet to touch the ground. He whispered something to the blonde boy that he didn't understand and began to raise his sword. Red metal shone as the bloody sword reflected the hunger of the fire as it burned through the neighborhood. Even though people were running. His people. No one stopped to help him. He whimpered and screamed for help but to no avail. The sword swung deep but only cut his arm. A force made the boy and the soldier fly back. It was his mother. She clawed at his face, took his sword and shielded her injured son. What could they do? Large burly men, with faces veiled in metal, were surrounding them. All of a sudden a building collapsed, the mud bricks fell in large chunks, smashing unto the ground and sending pebbles and rocks flying. The fire had found them again, curling back and roaring triumphantly. Dust rained down and his mother picked her son up and ran. As fast as her legs could carry her. Up the street, through a building, down into the market place where the streets were too thin for even a horse to travel through, it wound deep into the city. And finally she stopped and hid in a nook under a mud hut. She used palm leaves and covered the hole, her eyes found the frightened blue ones of her little boy and she pulled him close once more. War and bloodshed would reign the night, and they would claim this city, and shout its terrible call. Not even the cramped dark hole they scrambled into would be safe.

"Mama… what's happening…?" His mother was stroking the places where he had gotten hit fervently, and held him tightly whenever she head footsteps or voices.

"My son, do not speak… not a word until we are out of the city…" Peeking out of the hole she removed the leaves and pulled her son out. They started to run again, but this time they used the shadows. They were on the opposite side of the fire now and its blazing light could not penetrate the cool shadows from that far away. Surprisingly, it never grew quiet. There would always be a loud, probably someone's last, scream or the sound of buildings collapsing that rose above the rest of the muffled turmoil. Soon they were the only ones that were on the dirt street. The boy was alert, his eyes darting everywhere and his hand clutching unto his mother's; he could feel her shaking as they hurried along the alley. And then they stopped. Dead center of a street. "Shh, shh… it is okay…" His mother comforted him as a man emerged from the darkness, she nodded and he came forward, two horses' reigns in hand. Clicking on the hard ground as the horses came closer they snorted and bobbed their dark heads up and down. His mother pulled out the necklace and handed it to him. A quick exchange, if he had blinked the child would have missed it. And then they were on the horse. His mother behind him and holding the reigns and the man saddled on the other horse, with one click and a slap of the leather the horses gave way to a gallop. Their powerful legs surging through the streets as they drew further and further away from the foreign soldiers.

They were a good distance from the city now and the silence was getting too hard to bear, it was because no one knew what to say. The gloom sat heavily on everyone's spirits. "Mama, where are we going?" The horses slowed to a trot and then to a walk, the vast sand-scape enveloped the entire horizon, waves shaped by the winds rumored to be harsh enough to rip skin off bone swirled and joined with others. The boy couldn't tell where one dune started and where one dune ended. "Mama… Mama, look…" He had glanced back and saw it. The small flame. That small flame flickered and seemed to devour everything. That small flame was in fact the start of the end of the city. The silence this time, was scary. It was empty and devoid of life besides the ones of two other people and horses that dug their hooves in the sand occasionally.

"Come, we must leave now or we will be caught." The man spoke to his mother, whose eyes glistened with tears, as she blinked them away she made the horse turn around and start another gallop, away from their home and into the night.

"Octavian?" A voice penetrated his dreamless sleep, "Octavian, wake up, my love…" his eyelids slid open to reveal red eyes. He was crying last night, the realization of what he just witnesses had hit him like a ton of bricks; as he got up, he flinched at the shearing pain that erupted from his back and leg, he moaned, "I know sweetheart, I know…" his mother had some water and a wet rag that she wiped his forehead with, but it didn't really help. They were in tent now, the sun's heat managing to penetrate even the animal skin lining; mutters and the shuffling of feet came from outside, Octavian shifted, sitting up as he tried to shake off his exhaustion. "Here," his mother put a flat bowl to his lips and he drank. It was a sweet white liquid, he would have mistaken it for milk if it weren't for the nutty taste, "We are safe now, so you may rest, I only wanted you to drink this." The boy shook his head and as he rubbed his eyes everything became clearer.

Groggily he looked up, "Mama…" he didn't know what to say, so his mother laid him down to sleep, letting him use her arm as a pillow.

"Your father was very funny, he said really weird things sometimes… poems apparently… Octavian your father is Apollo. He is a sun god."

"…" there was only the sounds of the men outside the tent working, some of them chatting, "Apollo is a strange name… just like my name!" He looked up at his mother's face, it was laden with stress and exhaustion, "Mama, you go to sleep too."

"I do not mind that at all…" They rested together peacefully inside, only stirring from slumber once or twice as the man with the horses came in the check on them, each time Octavian's mother woke up immediately.

"Mama? Are you afraid?" Honey brown eyes gazed down at a little blonde boy.

"No," she smiled as her son kissed her cheek.

"Good, because neither am I." Octavian sat up and crossed his legs, "we should get something to eat."

"Right," the woman sat up and sighed, running her fingers through her messy black hair and scratching her scalp, "You have not eaten in a while." She got up and stretched, cracking her back, "Come, we can go see what they have to eat and drink." Octavian hopped to his feet, balancing as he noted that he was still wobbly, and followed his mother outside. First came the blinding white, then came the heat, and then came the dryness. He wrapped his head with cloth and looked out at the vastness. Sand. Miles and miles of it stretched out for who knows how long.

As he took a deep breath a frown formed on the little boy's lips, looking up, straight into the sun as he always could he spoke in a steady, firm and meaningful voice. "I hate you. A god who lets this happen is not a god at all… worst putting your son, and the woman you played with into danger... without any warning… I hate you, and from this day on, for as long as I live. I am not your son." With that felt his eyes start to burn and looked away. He was shaking, but he didn't know why. He wasn't afraid, he wasn't even happy. However, as Octavian stood there, looking at the caravan that he was travelling in and the expanse of golden sand, he felt, for once in his life. Like he belonged. And so he turned his back to the sun and walked on into the now awakening camp to find his mother, and hopefully some food too. He knew this journey was going to be a hard one, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't over yet.

An owl flew above, silent and large, it glided in the air, looking down with its saucer wide eyes; through the open space echoed the soft calls of a creature that wouldn't be answered now, but later. When the summer breeze no longer brings warmth to the east, but when the cold air is under its wing and the snowy trees are under its gaze. Then the answer will be there, and it will be a boy with eyes of skies that shall give it willingly.


	5. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 03: TWO GOLDEN MOONS**

Dry and itchy air laid still in the sky. And for once the day was light as the sun's rays feathered about the land, the heat exhumed merciful habits and no longer sat heavily on your shoulder, but naturally, its presence was still a nuisance. "You can never stop whining, even when you're satisfied…"mumbled the boy, his mother had said the very same words to him, back when they were living in the city. He had complained of being too hot when, he had just a few hours ago, escaped a bone chilling night. That lively place was now no more than a sad smudge in the sand, skeletal buildings stood crippled and ready to crumble at a moment's glace. That no sooner than later, that pitiful image of a lost echo of peace and daily-life, will too be taken by nature's winds. Splashes of cool water across naked skin ensured cold relief. From both the heat and the haunting memories. Octavian kneelt down in the muddy bed of the oasis as the water lapped gently at his waist. After days of travel, the mountains were close, he could see the peaks clearly this time. He could see them stretching far up like daggers to the vast blue above. He wondered if the moon was upset as she stared down at them, her faint figure a ghost even in the broad daylight. A loud splash snapped him back into the present, a small child had jumped into the oasis' deep end; a group of more children idly chatting and playing over on the bed saw the splash and started moving towards the water. The blonde watched them from a far, there was nothing he could say to them that would make him seem normal. His pale complexion in comparison to their dark tanned skin was alien. His cold pale eyes compared to their dark warm eyes, was alien. He might as well have stamped 'Different' on his forehead. Even though there were some that were lanky like him, he realized that they thought his skinny-ness came from sickness. "Right, because I look sickly…" tired of thinking he dove down and let the waters cover him, and shield him from the sun. As he looked up, his eyes stung, but he endured, and as he reached the bottom of the small pond he witnesses something he never did before. The sun's dazzling rays dancing across the surface of the water. He looked down at his hands, they were just pale blurs in his sight, but he could still recognize the lively waltz of fractal sunlight as the water's pulse matched his own heartbeat. Cerulean waters were calm in the deep as he gazed up from underneath and children's laughter were like aquatic whispers. Then there was the joy of feeling his lungs about to explode. He rushed up to the surface and for a few desperate seconds he filled his starved lungs and coughed up water he accidentally sucked in from his nose. "Ugh… disgusting…"

"Bleeccck! What does it taste like?" Octavian looked to his side and frowned. A boy with shockingly wide green eyes and a round little face had popped up beside him and was actually talking to him. Octavian opened his mouth but nothing came out, it was like he had poured honey down his throat and trapped his voice. "What is wrong? Can you talk?" The boy seemed quite empathetic after that last question.

"N-no… I mean Yes, I can talk…" after some silence avoiding eye contact Octavian looked up to meet an expecting gaze. And no personal space. He waded away suddenly but the boy came closer. Laughter could be heard on the other side of the bank and the blonde froze, his cheeks burning red.

"Oh no, you are sick…"

"No I am fine, what are you-" the boy's small hand rested on his forehead.

"You are red… I have not seen people like you before… do you get sick in the sun?" When that question gave way to full blown cackling from the children on the banks Octavian was going to give the boy a few choice words and then he saw him frown, "Raheem, he is sick, why is that funny!" The boy called back to an older child, a lot older than himself, Octavian realized.

"I'm not sick!" Again there was silence. He ruined it. Octavian bit his lip, "I am sorry, I did not-"

"You ingrate! How dare you talk to my brother that way!" There was a tall young man, dark hair, commanding stature and a paralyzing gaze, he was ankle deep inside the water when he heard Octavian shout at his little brother. "Asha, come, we will leave this ghoul alone, just like he was before." He spat his harsh words at Octavian, who just stood there and looked into space. This upset the little boy, or Asha, as he was called. His pleading gaze lingered on Octavian, begging him to say something, anything; the sound of water swooshing around little feet as they walked away was the only thing that elicited a response from the pale boy, he looked up gradually and watched as Asha and his brother Raheem romped somewhere else. The water seemed to grow colder now that it was empty. Octavian sank down into the water and let it engulf his body again. If only it would engulf his empty soul, at least then it would be filled with something other than sadness.

A few hours later the toil began. Octavian helped, like every other young boy strong enough, to pack and raise the tents. They seemed surprised that he could do manual labor, it was insulting, but Octavian held his tongue. The work was exhausting though, it was like a never ending cycle. Pull, one, heave two. Pull, one, heave, two. Pull, one, heave- A cry interrupted the routine. Octavian looked around, alert as ever as sweat beading at his arched brow. He recognized the sound. It was sharp and eerie as it fell to a soft murmuring echo on the wind; he avoided eye contact with the other boys who were dumbfounded as he skirted passed them; the children here all seemed to know each other and Octavian didn't feel like running into one of Raheem's friends. A few feet behind a cluster of tents there was a tent that had collapsed, and something was frantically thrashing around under the animal skin pelt. As he approached the gravel scraped and crunched underfoot, making him, and the animal inside, pause. It heard him. Octavian slowly took one of the skeletal beams of the tent and slid it away from the entwined mass of cloth and wood, he did this also with the large beams and several blankets. Whatever was inside, it had wandered in and messed around with the support, making everything fall on top of it. As he moved the last beam a sharp cry, more alert and threatening than before, jolted from the mass. Again Octavian paused, if he wasn't sure what animal this was, he was definitely sure now. He heard whispers behind him but didn't want to take his eyes off of the lump under the tent. Suddenly the motionless bump in the dirty tent came alive and the creature scrambled forward, Octavian quickly dove into the tent and flung the tent off the animal, its wings spread as it flapped them loudly. Its heavy elongated feathers fluttered down and the wet sand, that stuck to its body as it struggled, rained down as Octavian peered through squinted eyes up at the blindingly bright sky. A dash across his plain of sight and he was up and running. The creature was an owl. A large, heavily feathered grey owl. It didn't even make it that far, the poor bird was floundering and flapping as hard as it could, but it was tangled in rope that was still attached to the support beams a few feet away. It landed and snapped at the blonde, its golden saucer eyes, like daggers, pierced the heart and let the fear housed away once more bleed out of its prey. Just one problem. Octavian was not prey. The boy got down on his knees, and as carefully as he could he cut the rope and avoided the razor sharp talons that opened and closed menacingly whenever he got close. When he backed away Octavian was expecting the bird to fly away. Instead it stared at him and hooted as if expecting an answer. "I do not understand…

"You speak to birds too!" Octavian flinched, it was Asha. The little boy's eyes were as unnaturally wide and bright as before, but now they were excited, which only made Octavian more anxious.

"No, I do not speak to birds…" Gold eyes drank in the blonde's lanky image as it waddled closer, spreading its wings for poise. It fell on its flat face with a muffled thud and Octavian sighed. His feet shuffled as they slid over shifty sand, moving closer he started to wrap some cloth around his arm that he got from the mess the owl left behind in his attempt for a hasty retreat. He stuck his arm out and the owl stared at his hand, "Come on, are you not hungry?" The bird hooted again, at least this time it was more curious than hostile. It allowed Octavian to brush his hand down its head and tummy. It hopped on to his arm eagerly and made itself comfortable, "You are a heavy one…" he huffed. As he turned around Asha approached by tippy-toing, as if it would matter. "As I guessed, he is most likely tame. Do you know anyone with an owl?" Asher shook his head.

"No, I do not remember seeing a bird like this." His curly hair bounced as he ran around Octavian trying to look at the owl without it peeking back at him. "I cannot believe you tamed him!"

"I did not tame-"

"Raheem will never believe this! The rest are going to be so jealous!" He laughed and Octavian frowned.

"Why would they be jealous? It is just a bird." The boy kept on talking about bragging rights and something about the leader being ecstatic, Octavian decided that as long as Asha was distracted and didn't look at him, he was going to be just fine. The owl hooted softly as it began to pick at the protective cloth wrapped tightly around his arm, he scolded it, "No, do not do that… You will not get any food if you do that." The owl looked up at Octavian and hooted softly, complying, apparently, with Octavian's wishes.

"I knew you could talk to birds!" Asha's excitement seemed to erupt from his tiny body, his high-pitched accusation carried on the windless air and reached ears of the children in the camp, they looked around and when they saw the pale lanky boy with the large owl perched on his arm they ran towards him. Octavian jolted as he realized that with all this attention, maybe silence and solitude wasn't so bad after all. All the kids were gathered around him, young, small, old, tall, they were all there tugging at his shirt and speaking so rapidly that the blonde's brain couldn't function. He heard Asha's voice above the crowd's own collective murmur, "Where did you learn to tame Great Sada!" With that all the children were silent, their expectations radiated from their eyes slowly piercing his tired mind, his throat started to choke up, as if someone stuffed cotton down it. Blue eyes looked up and scanned the crowd of dusty kids, each having a different expression than the last, their eyes quickly losing their zeal, and their body's fidgeting after some time had passed.

"I have heard that you fear… um, Al Sada… Where I come from it is feared as well…" Octavian tried not to be discouraged from talking as the kids pulled him forward, rushing him into camp. They all sat down around him, a gazing maze of little eyes and prodding fingers surrounded him. Those that did not investigate were spectators to this novelty, Raheem was one of them, with his arms crossed over his chest, he watched with disgruntled eyes from the shade of a large tent, preferring instead to listen from a far. Octavian felt a small hand touch his knee, with his eyes he followed the dark skinned arm that was littered with scrapes, both old and new, to find the grinning face of Asha. He began to speak, taking the tone that his mother always used whenever she was telling a story. He felt silly, but the children seemed interested enough. "My people took arrows poisoned with bewitched men's fingernails," he got an 'ewww' from the crowd, laughter and wrinkled noses were rampant, and so Octavian continued, "they spoke of witches getting tired of the devil checking up on them in the form of the owl,"

"Uwl…?" A little girl tried to pronounce the name and Octavian nodded, "yes, the one with eyes of moons and whispers soft calls to the dead. I have heard of the legends, but I did not believe them, so I ventured off to the burial grounds of my people and I waited for this great demon. When the moon was full and the grave stones were silent I heard it," silence reigned throughout the crowd, even some of the adults stopped to listen, "its soft call echoed into the night. My people say the fool who answers back will receive death, his soul and body carried off by the Owl, the helper of death, to be traded off to the underworld and exchanged for a gold coin the winged demon would eat as payment. And I would be left to wander its terrible and frightening wastelands."

"What did you do…?" Another whispered in awe.

When Octavian smiled evilly all their eyes grew as wide as the owl's, "I answered." That was of course rewarded with gasps and whispers, though when he held up his hand for silence he got it. "I answered and as silent as death, the creature swooped down on heavy wings and landed in front of me, its eyes indeed as wide as moons, though as it looked at me, the gold in its eyes reminded me of the gold it was rewarded as payment for my capture. The great Sada moved closer, its giant talons scraping against the black stone of the grave. Moving closer and closer, making his soft call."

"You answered again?" A young boy, not that much older than Octavian, had his hands wrung into a nervous ball as the kids shushed him. His eyes darted around and settled back on the blonde, embarrassment a supple blush upon his face.

"Yes." Again silence consumed the gathering. "It came closer as I did so. Seven times I did so and answered the demon's call, and seven times did it step closer, until its eyes and my eyes could stare into each other's."

"What did you see?" This time this interruption was welcomed.

"… I saw… a ghoul of myself." The owl hooted loudly and stretched its large grey wings, the children watched in horror as if it would come and take them away. Octavian chuckled, "I had brought some fish from dinner and gave it to him that night, but as I walked back into the village to find the witch that always worked in the hours of the moon. She instead, found me. Her shapely figure stood in the middle of the moon-lit dirt road and motioned me closer, hidden by her shawl, I could barely see her face. Her voice was as clear and smooth as running water, she said that I had cheated death and he was impressed. I had looked into the eyes of his helper and appeased it. I would live a challenging life and die an extravagant death. It will be then the Great Sada will give its last soft call, and I must choose whether it will be smart to answer back. If answered, with what challenges and hardships shall my spared life be sewn and stitched together with." When he finished the kids glanced at the owl who stared right back at them, his unblinking gold eyes lorded over their fears. Octavian ran his hand down the creatures' back, and spoke in a deep and chilling voice, "Asha? Do you have any fish?" Asha looked at the children and the children looked at him. Every one of them scrabbled to their feet and ran off to get the demon in their camp some fish before it took their souls and exchanged it for gold to eat. "Okay… that actually worked better than I thought…" Octavian chuckled. A steady wind that caressed his back made him look to the east. The mountains. They stood around them, their shadow cast for miles. The sight of them made Octavian uneasy for some reason. Sada gave a louder more eerie call that echoed through the camp that made the adults look to Octavian with suspicion, he tried to give a smile but it failed miserably. When they looked on he frowned, "What was that about…?" He mumbled.

The owl devoured all the fish brought to him and perched happily— or at least Octavian thought it was happy— on the stack of support beams left back from building the tents. Octavian had checked its legs for wounds while it was eating so the bird didn't gut him for touching him unnecessarily. It rested after a few minutes, its large saucer eyes slowly closing as it drifted off into the clutches of slumber.

"You were very brave," Octavian glanced to his side to see Asha had appeared next to him again. 'Why can I never hear his footsteps….?' he thought.

"No, I was stupid…" Octavian recalled that night very clearly, when his depression was just another unwanted companion. He didn't include that in the story, but he was reminded of the sadness that plagued his mind because of the tale he told. His conscience and mind weren't clear but his heart shed a ton once he saw how much the children were enjoying it. That night was when his mother came home with a wound on her back, she wouldn't tell him what had happened, and even though she didn't say it, he _knew_ it hurt. He had left the house 'to take a walk' but was actually hoping to find Al Sada so he would take him away. Far far away, so his mother didn't have to suffer in order to look after him. He couldn't help but feel stupid when he thought about that night now, mostly because of how silly it was, he was only six and he had already decided that he was only a burden; especially with the nightmares he had, constantly waking his mother up. "Sorry… I was just thinking," he had remained so quiet that it started to worry Asha, the little boy, who was no more than six himself, walked up to Octavian and sat beside him, he had something behind his back, "Do you want me to guess what you have…?" Asha nodded and giggled. "Um," he smiled, "food."

"How did you know?" Bright eyes were wide with astonishment, he turned to Sada and pouted, "You can't use magic!"

"I did not use magic, I can smell the bread. I am starving!" Asha laughed and gave him the loaf. "Asha, why did you go near me in the oasis?" He had finished eating and brushed some of the crumbs away with his arm. The reason why Asha would actually _want _to come near him was just as much of a mystery as why the great and powerful 'Al Sada' was snooping around in a tent. 'Maybe it _is_ Al Sada…' Octavian pushed that frightening thought away, he already had a lot to deal.

The boy looked up from his bread, "What? What do you mean?"

"Do not play that game with me, kid." Octavian crossed his arms over his chest.

Asha scratched the back of his head and feigning ignorance for as long as he could, but to no avail. Octavian's gaze did not waver. "Fine… I just thought you looked cool. The other kids say you are a ghoul from the underworld… but…"

"You did not believe it?" Octavian stared at Asha, he was basically like him. The boy's eyes found the blonde's as he swallowed his last bite.

"I am sorry… I did not want you thinking that I only liked you because you were strange… You just look like you were a nice person. And besides!" Asha stood up and pointed a figure at Octavian, "You were the one that swam up to me. You nearly scared the living daylights out of me!"

A chuckle escaped from Octavian's lips, but before he could say anything more boy he heard his mother calling. He saw her signaling him to come and he nodded, "Coming!" He turned to a disappointed Asha, Um, if you just want to talk some more then wait until the morning… _However_," Octavian put stress on the last sentence, "I sneak out and swim in the morning sometimes… Maybe I will see you there." Asha's face was blank until Octavian poked him in the arm playfully, he gasped and then nodded, winking for good measure. "You are terrible at keeping secrets aren't you?"

"Yes." Asha said this proudly, his hands on his hips and his chin raised slightly.

"I like your… honesty." Octavian raised a brow and said his goodbyes. Entering the tent he plopped into the blankets, completely exhausted. He couldn't wait to go to sleep. _Woot_. Octavian lifted his sleepy bed head up from the comfort of the soft cool blanket, "Really?"

"Yes, Octavian, really. " His mother was sitting up cross-legged, her dark hair up in a ponytail that fell to her back. He saw how messy it looked and frowned as he tried to ignore it. She continued, "The people are fearful of owls here and since it would not leave the camp site, guess where it has to stay." The look on her face meant that Octavian would not be answering that question and almost on cue she continued, "Here, Octavian. I do not have a problem with these creatures, but I am not fond of them…"

"He seems tame, so maybe he is a messenger-"

"Octavian, I swear if you try to frighten me with that silly tale you told the children-"

"I assure, I do not have the energy to do any such thing… I mean the bird could be a messenger, an actual messenger going to deliver something. There was a message tied to his foot when I checked it for injuries." He sighed, "And that story was amazing! I worked so hard on it too." That managed to get a laugh out of his mother, though it was too short-lived.

After some silence she crawled over and sat next to him, running her fingers through her son's blonde hair, "I know I asked you this already, but… are you really okay?" An answer came muffled from Octavian, "Sweetheart, please tell me what is the matter." His little face peeked out from the blankets, stained with tears.

"Why will you not tell me where you go all day? You come back with wounds sometimes…" He sniffled.

"… I am sorry, my love," she laid down next to him and scooped him up in her arms, holding him close and kissing his forehead softly, "I will try to be more careful… things will get better. I promise." Her own tears were warm on his face; as time went by she felt his breathing slow and she saw his little chest raising slowly. And as her little boy slept, she remained awake, for fear not only ruled her heart, but anger as well. She imagined her son felt the same. "Things will get better… but only after the worst of it all runs its course…"

Octavian carefully snuck out of the tent, slipping out of his mother's arms wasn't hard, she rolled away and curled into herself as she continued sleeping. Now, as he approached the oasis near the camp he kept an eye out for Asha. A splash caught his attention and he ran towards the water laughing, "You were supposed to wait for-", his voice retreated into his throat and a whimper fled his quivering lip, he would have fled too if the man's hand did not grab his shoulder and twisted it. He screamed for help but the heavy hand muffled them to pathetic whines.

"But I did wait for you…" The voice was familiar now as the masked man whispered into Octavian's ear. His blood froze over and his heart dropped to his stomach as tears pricked his eyes. The soldier that had attacked his city was here, and no doubt there were more lurking in the darkness. The soft shifty sand became hard ground as the man slammed him into it with bone-breaking force, his head hit first and the pain ricocheted down his spine as the soldier began to stomp on his back, holding him still and putting more force unto his lower back when he struggled, "Where is that defiant little boy now? Your mother cannot save you, so what ever will you do?" His burly voice held a dainty tone as he mocked Octavian.

"Defiant? You mean smart. Anyone in their right mind would kick an ass like you…, I am truly surprised that your fellow men have not done it already… There was not even much to kick anyway-", his speech turned into suffocating agony as the man kicked him in the ribs, the boy writhed and tried to breath, coughing ensued and tears choked him, but he refused to look weak in front of the soldier, he bit his lip and tried to get up. "You are… a coward," he gasped, "nothing less than a stupid… old coward… all of you…"

"Cowards, huh? I was not the one to shed tears and wet their pants in front of an enemy-"

"Your _enemy_ was a child!" Octavian bellowed at the man, rage coursing through his body like a burning inferno, giving him the strength to stand fully as he cradled his ribs, "Furthermore, I am sure my _mother_ left you shedding enough tears." The soldier had enough, he stood tall with his sword drawn. Octavian stepped back slowly into the water as he advanced, "Why are you doing this? What sense does it make to eradicate a country? What did we do?" With each question, Octavian's trembling voice rose in octave as well as anger.

The man pulled down the mask that hid the lower half of his face revealing a horrid gash across his cheek, the dull lights of fires cast behind them from the camp, illuminating the wound as it ate its way to his broken nose. He grinned, "You and everyone else here are going to die anyway. Why not?" the man obviously enjoyed having the upper hand, he flaunted his sword around carelessly, "It is simple, you and the rest of your people, are vulnerable. And therefore, we attack."

"You have killed innocent people… burned down an entire city… all because you think you can-"

"Because we _know_ we can." Octavian felt the ice cold water lapping at his feet, the mud slowly devouring them as he stood there speechless. In a split second he was in the water, running as fast as he could, the water that was supposed to be his savior, now became his enemy too as it became hard to evade the soldier's swinging sword. He fell and frantically threw his head out of the water to take a breath. It was cut short. Rough fingers yanked his hair up, forcing his to strain his neck; all of a sudden he found himself gasping and spluttering as the soldier dunked his head into the water and rubbed it into the mud. Dirt and water rushed up his mouth and his nostrils as he struggled to breath. "_Your_ people… are soon to be... our property, boy, show some respect!" He kicked the boy in the same sore spot over and over as he spoke these words, amusement and mockery ensued as the rest of the soldiers either laughed or made fun of the scene. Octavian laid still. "You wouldn't even last a second as a slave…" the man panted, "better to die as a dog…"

"I imagine it's the same for you." The soldier turned around swiftly but it was too late, the boy took advantage that they were in the water and managed to take hold of the inside of his leg and flip him back. As soon as he went under Octavian scanned the water for the sword, he heard the sound of the other soldiers coming closer, most likely very angry and bloodthirsty. He found the sword and drove it into the struggling soldier's chest, blood gurgled and bubbled up the man's mouth into the murky waters as he cursed at the boy. The sight was grotesque, but Octavian saw that he was suffering, he tore the sword out of the man's chest and slammed it into his neck, severing the man's head; that one action ended the soldier's painful struggle and began the slow descendent into his own. A man roared behind him and came in full force, all Octavian should have seen was the metal clanging armor, heavy swords held high and the wrinkled faces of men that screamed rage and bloodlust. But Octavian didn't see that, he saw a bunch of larger than life men exposing their positions, even worse they were wearing these giant reflective suits, "they might as well have done a battle cry". Octavian shouted as loud as he could to the camp, "Intruders!" He swung at the man nearest to him, causing the soldier to knock over another one.

"Die-!" A stone hurled from a distance struck the soldier behind Octavian, his head lurched back sharply at a sickening angle and he collapsed into the water with a big splash. Blue eyes scanned the banks and found the little figure of Asha as he threw his little fists in the air as if in celebration, they glared at him.

A few soldiers saw this and made their way to the boy, "Asha-", he felt wind slice across his arm and dove into the water, avoiding another slice from the man's sword; the soldier searched for him but Octavian jumped up behind him, the weight of the sword held up soon helped him propel it up, as the robust warrior turned around to kill the boy, his comrade's blade wielded by a lanky little boy was thrust into his neck. He fell and pulled Octavian with him. The struggling in the shallow water was short and as the blonde frantically got to his feet, his clothes heavy and soaked with blood, he watched with relief as the rest of the soldiers retreated. The older men of the camp had come with their curved swords in close pursuit of them. "That armor cannot help you now…" He panted. Trudging up the muddy banks he lugged the sword with him, his knuckles white as they gripped the hilt of the heavy weapon. Adrenaline made his blood pound in his ears, muting the screams that echoed near the water's edge, he would have trembled if he wasn't so worried. "Asha!" He called out for the boy while the rest of the men were killing one another, a gruesome scene, the clash of swords and men's ragged voices drowned out his own desperate calls. And the sky's bleak blackness, provided, not a silver star, to be a spectator to this battle, but two golden eyes, as large as saucers, carried by heavy grey wings.

It was then Octavian managed to spot the child. Asha was behind some boulders that lined the eastern bank side of the oasis, the soldier just a few feet away, knocking his sword on each stone methodically, coming closer and closer to discovering Asha's poor hiding spot. Curling into himself, Asha laid there, trying to tuck himself into a non-existent crack. A shaky breath left his lips while he let himself tremble. His sodden clothes weighed him down and chilled him to the bone as he stood there with the wind to his back. Octavian made his choice. "Hey!" The soldier spun around and saw Octavian approaching him, a grin stretched across his face that seemed different from the others'. "Fight me." Octavian declared, "Or die a coward." The soldier tilted his head, hair peppered with grey and silver shifted slightly in the dry wind as eyes of auburn stared back at him.

"I would rethink that young man." The blonde frowned, he was giving his friend some time to escape, he didn't mind talking instead of fighting, whatever gave Asha enough time to bolt.

"Why do you say that? I have killed two of your comrades, what makes you think I cannot kill you?" The man lifted his chin, analyzing Octavian as he circled him, a soft smile played on his lips, "What is so funny?" Octavian glared, still unsure of the soldier's plan.

"You." When he looked offended the soldier laughed, it was a real laugh, jolly almost. Just like the laughs he would hear in the streets whenever there was a festival. This made him uneasy as the soldier stabbed his sword into the sand and left it to stand, "Do not look so insulted. I only say this because you are funny. I believe that you killed some of my men, rest assured, however, I thought you would sneak your little friend away while my back was turned. I had seen you look behind those boulders and then look at me… Do you fight to gain honor, or to protect? Answer this question, and depending on your answer, I will fight you."

Octavian was stunned. The soldier actually stood there, his hands behind his back as he awaited his answer. The sun was approaching the horizon, casting a deep red hue to bleed across the dark sky. Seeing that it was almost morning Octavian thought that the soldier would kill him and retreat. With most of his brothers slaughtered and so few running away, he thought that he would surely follow suit. Instead he stood there behind enemy lines and awaited the answer to some ridiculous question he gave to a skinny blonde boy who can barely lift the large sword in his hands. "You mock me."

"No, no, I do not mock." The soldier crossed his arms over his breastplate, "Do you have your answer?"

"…I fight to protect…" Octavian flinched when the soldier approached him, leaving his sword behind. He forced his weak and tired arms to lift the trembling sword, but the soldier took it from him in one swift move. Tossing it aside. Octavian looked up, confusion set in his blue eyes as he looked into the soldier's.

"Good. You do not need to." He pointed to the fleeing figure of Asha as he frantically climbed over the sand ridge to get to camp. Probably for reinforcements. "Do you still want to fight? Be honest with yourself."

Octavian's bottom lip quivered as he tried to hold his ground, "No…" his voice cracked and he failed to stop his shoulders from quaking, he hung his head feeling the shame of breaking in front of the enemy.

Heavy hands rested on the boy's small shoulders, blue eyes found the warm brown eyes of the man, "Am I still your enemy?" When Octavian reluctantly shook his head the soldier smiled, "Young man, you were very brave. I am impressed." Octavian also recognized that he spoke with an accent, unlike the other soldiers.

"You are different. You are not of the same people, are you?" A familiar hoot made them both look up.

The soldier smiled, "You are right. And if you would be an ally, to me, I promise you I will return the favor. But it is your choice."

"I will be your ally, if, you tell me who you serve."

"I will tell you more than that." The man motioned Octavian to follow as he took his sword and sheathed it, "I am a soldier of Greece, but a committed spy for Rome… That owl's name is Aetius, it is Latin for eagle," he chuckled, "sometimes I think he should have been born an eagle, which is why I named him this. He and I deliver intelligence to Rome from her enemies, in this case, the weakened empire of Persia."

"So the men who killed my people… were from Greece?"

"Yes. The Greek, however, are not out enemies. For Rome, there are no enemies. Only nations to conquer and add to her name. Enemies are only those who plot to burn her down." Octavian nodded, understanding how all this came to be.

"So you cannot fight your feud elsewhere?" When the soldier shook his head the boy sighed.

"The battle ground is the earth, there is nowhere to run if the enemies burn down my home."

"Like they did to mine…" He sighed and nodded, patting the boy's soldier.

"Keep the sword, you earned it. As for that favor," he bent down on one knee to face Octavian, "If there is ever a time you need that favor. Look for me in back allies of Rome, my true name is Lucius Sartorius, however, when asking for me, just say you are looking for the man with silver hair." He patted Octavian's head and started walking away.

"They will be here soon, so hurry…" The boy watched as the soldier removed his armor to reveal loose black clothes. "A disguise…?"

"Boy!" The blonde spun around, an alarmed and bloodied group of men approached him, "Are you alright?" Their eyes rested on the large sword held in his hands and they all started to smile, and before he knew it, Octavian was being clapped on the back, "Your mother was worried, she will be glad to know that her son is a warrior." One of them praised him. The aftershock of all this excitement took hold of Octavian as he tried not to shake, he didn't remember, but at one point, on his weary journey back to camp, he collapsed and one of the men carried him to the tent he and his mother shared.

"Octavian?" His dark dreams of static and nothingness were interrupted by warm whispers on his ear, he moaned and refrained from moving his stiff and aching muscles, as silence ensued he returned to the blank and empty relief of his dream-less sleep. As his mind was as frayed and exhausted as his body, he did not want to be disturbed. When he felt someone shake his arms violently, he began to protest stubbornly.

"No, stop… stop, what?!" He jolted up, his hands already flashing into the bed covers to find the comforting grip of the sword.

"No, no, Octavian, it's me!" Asha was as energetic as usual, which baffled Octavian. He suddenly grew serious, "Fight me. Or die a coward."

Octavian immediately shrunk away, but Asha ripped the blanket off him, leaving his embarrassed rosy red cheeks to burn in full view and in shame. "Do not repeat that to anyone."

"Why?" Asha pouted.

"Because I sound stupid!" Skinny arms were thrown into, the air in frustration, "I only said that to get his attention, and-"

"Yeah, about that… I sort of, kind of, already told the whole entire camp what you did," Asha interrupted his rant, halting him to a complete and utter standstill, "look, I know you're angry, but-… hey, there is no need to sulk like that… or lift your sword. You should be happy! I am." Asha proudly lifted his head and Octavian held his head in his hands. "Are you still tired?"

"No, Asha, I am as alive and energetic as can be." Sarcasm dripped from ever word that left his frowning lips.

"Great!" Octavian sighed irritably, but he couldn't help but smile at Asha's peppiness. However, this time, the boy was acting strange, his head turned from one way to the next as he looked for people who weren't there, "Octavian, want to see something cool?"

The blonde didn't like the way the boy said 'cool', "No."

"Come on!" He groaned and Octavian complied, Asha smiled again and lifted his shirt to reveal bandages galore. "I look like the dead of the Egyptians!" The curly haired brunette seemed actually amused about this fact.

Octavian sat up quickly, analyzing the extent of the damage. "Asha," he remembered what happened. The blood, the swords, the Roman… The Greeks. Faster and faster did his chest fall and rise, his breathes grew wild and his crying hysterical. It was like he was himself, as if he had withdrew into himself, "I am sorry, I am so sorry," he started sobbing. Asha held the older boy and tried to assure him that it wasn't his fault.

"Octavian, it does not hurt that badly… A-and, it was because I tried to help. It is my battle wound." Watery blue eyes looked up to see a goofy grin, "I would really like it if you think of it as my battle wound too. We can be warrior buddies!" When Asha stretched out his arm to pat Octavian he jerked as the pain seared his side and made him lurch, the blonde was there to catch him in a soft hug.

"You always act like this… " he wished that he could too, but for some reason whenever he tried to his real self was always there, waiting for him to choose it when all else failed. And his life has been nothing _but_ failures on his part. "Please stay still. Maybe we can play when you get better?" The boy's playful demeanor melted away. In fact everything melted away. A loud screech rattled his senses, "Asha?" Everything started ripping, "Asha!", the blankets, the tent, the sky… his reality shattered like glass, awakening a monstrous amber snake that swallowed everything. The sand and earth seem to fall into its large mouth. Octavian sunk into the ocean of sand, his bones crushing under the weight as it tossed him about, and all the while the suffocating darkness loomed above waiting patiently gulp him down into oblivion. As he fell he plummeted into a scarlet pool and the sickeningly sweet taste of iron invaded his mouth as he drowned. Blood filled his nose, his ears, and burned his eyes. He tried to swim, barely making it to surface and taking a desperate breath, but could only scream, the bubbles blinding him further, as boney fingers dug into his skin and clothes, dragging him back down. They were men and women with boiling voices, their eyes as gold and as wide as owls'. They spoke in unison.

"_Run_." Their fingers dug deeper and began to rip flesh from bone, their eager claws frenziedly boring into his chest. They went for his eyes.

"No!" The seven year old screamed, tears stinging his eyes as he hyperventilated. "No, no, _no_!" He sobbed.

"Sweetheart, it is okay, everything is fine." His mother cradled her little sobbing bundle and rocked him back and forth, "Everything is okay now." After he calmed down his mother pried his face from her chest, lifting his chin so she could see his eyes. "My love, you are safe now, look," she convinced him to see how normal the tent was and that he didn't have any serious wounds, "No one but I was inside, no one else touched you." Octavian nodded; Evening had already begun.

"I slept the whole day?" With a nod from his mother he collapsed back into the sweaty warm blankets, "At least I did not piss my pants…" Familiar fingers ran through his soft hair gently and the boy closed his eyes for a few moments. "I-is Asha alright?"

"Asha?" Octavian sat up, "Oh, yes, the young boy with wide bright eyes? He wanted to check up on you, but I told him he had to wait until you woke up." The look she gave him challenged him to say anything about what she did. He didn't even try.

"Can I go see if he is okay?" Silence made Octavian break into a cold sweat, a shiver running down his spine, "Is he okay?"

"He is not well. His wound is infected and he is sleeping… I do not know of anything more. I-"

Octavian ran out of the tent, after a few tries he scowled, "What were you thinking! You do not even know where he-" He ran into someone, "Sorry!" Glancing up he realized that 'sorry' was not going to be enough. Slamming him into the sand, Raheem pinned him down. "I guess I cannot ask you where your brother is?"

"Shut your filthy mouth, there is no way your accursed ass is going anywhere near my brother." Octavian was mocked for his strange accent all the time for how strange it sounded, but he never thought that his pronunciations was _filthy_, maybe a little rough, but he thought it was pretty decent. "Ever since you came, he has either gotten killed, or-"

"I only came here three days ago! How much trouble could I have caused your brother? He came to protect me on his own free will… Besides…" He couldn't believe that he was going to say this, "that wound is his, battle wound…" Now he knew he shouldn't have said this. His head turned sharply to the side as the boy punched his cheek; Octavian was afraid he was going to have to eat on one side of his mouth.

"Raheem!" A shrill yet frightening voice made both the boys glance towards the third tent to the left. A small plump woman, her head wrapped in a colorful shawl, stood there with a look of scorn etched into her hard features.

"Raheem, I think your mother is calling you." The boy threw his collar down and glaring, made his way to his reprimanding mother, mouth full with rebuttals. While they were busy he snuck inside the tent, he immediately saw Asha's little body lying still in the middle of the floor.

When he sat next to him his bright eyes looked up, "Hey!" He didn't seem to lose that optimistic tune to his voice, "You are alright!" Octavian smiled, putting his hand Asha's chest so he didn't get up, "I tried to see you yesterday and today, but you were sleeping. You sleep for a really long time. Oh! And I heard the Elders talking, you have a sword!? I cannot believe it, well, I mean, I can believe it, but that is great, we can play sword fighting with mine, wouldn't that be awesome? Raheem never plays-" Octavian just let the boy talk, nodding and smiling when he needed to, which of course wasn't hard. And then Asha told him something he didn't know, "Your mother said you were leaving tomorrow, please tell me that is not true." Octavian shook his head, unsure of what to say.

"I-I she never told me…" Silence, like a muted symphony played on with its heavy and saddening song, "She never told me…" Asha's small hand patted his slightly larger, paler hand.

"It will be alright." He smiled softly, taking Octavian by surprise, "My father always says that when you make a friend, you will see them soon enough, so when they leave, it is not really good bye."

"I wish… I wish that I could believe that-"

"Then do it."

"…Why?" Blonde hair fell into the boy's face as he cried, "Believing in something like that will surely kill me with grief, Asha… I do not want to leave. My mother cannot make that kind of decision without me knowing, she can't-"

For once Asha shook his head, "Octavian. She only does what is best for you. The village may seem nice… but we are travelling to our city, our country. And if news gets out that a boy with pale skin can charm Al Sada, and defeat grown warriors of another formidable nation, then you will be in serious danger. I love my people, but…" he sighed, "they are really suspicious of any little thing. Once I took an owl's egg and put it under my bed and my parents bathed me in holy water for weeks! There is no telling what they would do to you and your mother." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "I know you are sad. I am too. But, you must leave tomorrow. The camp Elders may respect you now for your bravery, but Raheem has already spread rumors that you were the one to lead the soldiers here."

"Because of the owl. I am the only one here who knew how to calm it down…" Asha nodded.

"There is no guarantee that the people here will not choose to slaughter you both a few days from now. Time may heal all wounds, but it gives paranoia a chance to sow seeds into every mind… My friend, it is time for you to leave… And as I fear that this is our last time to see each other," he struggled to sit up, even with Octavian's help, but he managed to wrap his arms around him in loving embrace, "so this will be out last hug for a very long time, it seems. However, do not despair, for fixed not are the bonds of friendship in an iron destiny… We will meet again. I promise you."

"You… are very wise… I promise to meet you as well, I am eager to see how much you have grown after I have left." Octavian ruffled his friend's hair one last time and tried to smile, "I will miss you, Asha, I will remember you fondly."

"As will I, it is with a heavy heart that I regret not becoming friends earlier."

"Better late than never." With that the two took their last looks and Octavian disappeared from the tent, avoiding the eyes of everyone he passed. Asha was right, as he passed by some crowds the people's eyes would dart to and fro, and suddenly speak in hushed voices. They had to leave. As his empty blue eyes stretched to un-known lands past the horizon, so did his mind, though the sadness of losing a friend always drew him back. He sighed, "As Asha said… Fixed not are the bonds of friendship…" Winds brushed his hair forward as it merrily romped in the sand, and even though the sun showed no mercy today in its ferocious rays, Octavian felt no fear. As his bare feet soaked up the warmth of the late sun's heat left in the sand, he looked up to the darkening world above, its silver spectators all peering through the air right back at him. Twinkling and glittering like dust blown across a bare black canvas. Octavian wondered if he would miss the aroma of the spices, the cool of the night, or even the familiar language that danced across so many tongues. Most of all, he wondered if he would miss the sound of heavy wings on the wind and soft cries calling to anyone who will answer. "I am going to need that favor Lucius Stratus…" As the day finally died and gave birth to night, the display of blood red light died with it, bringing only silver ribbons flowing from the moon. He saw two gold moons blinked at the camp and disappeared into the darkness and smiled, "Hope you are ready to keep your word."


	6. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 04: COLD MORNING'S CRIMSON**

Grass tore under foot as the boy ran as fast as he could. The deep and speckled light forest gave way before him: branches and trunk high and proud, ground low and carpeted with wild grasses, bushes buzzing with bugs, the air filled with the chatter and cries of birds. It was his playground. The wild. He skid to a halt, loose dust in a small trail behind him, and stooped down. The air always seemed awfully still and quiet whenever you were listening for someone. Or something. As he crawled on his knees to the rustling bush he laid flat on his belly, the gravel did not make it comfortable, but the warmth of his body soon warmed the earth beneath him, making it more bearable; his small fingers carefully found the branches of the thicket and pried it open as silently as he could, he managed to peer through to the other side and low and behold, a wolf. A small one, actually. It had fresh carcass staining its cute muzzle as it romped and ripped away the flesh of some dead animal. Octavian watched curiously as the playful creature raised its head and ears. Was it listening for him too? The blonde had heard a few howls for the past few days he had been exploring in the forest near his new home. Or at least that is what his mother says. A sharp whistle and the canine turned his way, uttering small whines as he came closer. "Hey little one…" Octavian slowly got up and stepped over the bush, "Were you playing?" He had heard that wolves couldn't bark, so as he put his hand in front of the snapping pup he drew back quickly, as he expected growling hummed from the small animal. Even though engaged in a dangerous game the wolf nor the boy seemed troubled, soon the wolf was so close to him that he could pet him on the head. "Do you want something else to eat?" He took some meat from his pocket and unwrapped it from its wax-paper prison, the smell of raw veal and blood seemed to excite the animal. It jumped up and sniffed at it so Octavian gave it some to taste. When he made the puppy sit he gave it the rest, patting it on the head when it ate. "We are good friends, you and I…" the boy knew that wasn't true, but it was nice to say it. The wolf was used to him coming here, and was just happy to get some extra food. Friendship is not bought, even with the simplest of creatures. It is earned. Octavian didn't mind, the pup sometimes waited for him, and that was a good sign. A playful nuzzle eased him out of his thoughts and turned his attention back to his little furry little friend, "Yes little one?" Its large grey ears flopped as it tilted its head, black eyes full of energetic fire and tail wagging, Octavian knew that it wanted to play. "Where is your mother…?" the pup responded by head-butting his thigh, "Come now, no playing… your mother has not come back? Are you alone too?" He picked the dog up and cradled it, "You are so small." He nipped at his fingers teasingly, "Would you like to come live with me?" There was a chilling howl and the pup jumped out of his hands. Ears and posture showed how alert it was as its frozen stare looked east. Its mother was near after all. Octavian sighed, he knew that he had been here too many times, the mother would most likely move the pup to somewhere else, "Alright, good luck little one." He patted the wolf's head and headed back home. Walking out of the dark covers of the black forest he stepped into the morning sunlight, the gay sweet songs of the morning birds warned of his coming. Now that the day was fresh the larger more dangerous animals have awakened and sounded their rousing yawns. A bear's gruff belch of a roar cut through bird's chatter. Octavian stretched his hands to the sky and yawned too, his back curved like a cat's as it gave a crick, if he was alarmed by the sound, he didn't show it. Maybe it was early confidence that he sported, as he never did run into a bear, all the while he cunningly saw signs of their presence and evaded them.

"Hello? Young man?" Blue eyes scanned the dirt road in front of him. "Over here." A young man, his face rough and his green eyes sharp, stood up from the grass, "You wouldn't have any food on you would you?" His sudden appearance made Octavian uneasy. What man who lies in wait in the grass asks for food?

"No." Octavian looked the man up and down. He did not look like a beggar per say, his clothes were plain and dirty, so was his face, "Are you a Blacksmith?" Octavian analyzed his demeanor, the man stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, yet as he looked down at the boy, there was a glimmer of enjoyment present. As if he enjoyed towering over him.

"Yes. Why do you ask?" The man's green eyes frowned at him.

Octavian gave a soft smile, "No reason." His blonde hair shifted into his eyes as he tilted his head, "I bet there will be a pig, slaughtered over the stove soon, at home. My mother is a great huntress, but she is not the only one able to catch and kill prey. The forest is full of them, but sometimes one will just trot straight up to you... Would you like some, sir?" The young man grinned and clapped his back, apparently happy for the free meal. Octavian led the man down the dirt road remembering one fact in his head. There was only one Blacksmith in town. And he was elderly. As he grew closer home, he took a trail that lead them around and into the trees. The leaves underfoot muffled the crunch of twigs, but left a pungent earthy scent in the moist air. It had rained last night, and it was apparent as little droplets plummeted from above at random, assaulting their heads with one cold splash at a time. Using his sleeve, Octavian, wiped off the water from his cheek, "Sir? Is it hard being a Blacksmith?"

"No. Not at all." The man gave short answers, the blonde noticed. "Do you… want to be a Blacksmith one day?" There it was again. The sound of feigned interest lingered beneath that honest voice; Octavian played along.

"Yes, sir. I really would, but I have no one to teach me." He lowered his gaze to the ground, his pale feet were scarred by a few cuts here and there and although his pale skin wasn't that suspicious, for people with fair skin often pop up every now and again, his accent was very much so. He thought, 'You'll either ask me where my father is, or where I am from… either way, you expect to get an answer for both of these questions… He paused as he thought of his child-like disposition, 'Just because I am a child, doesn't mean that I will tell you everything…'

"When your father comes back, maybe he will teach you. Yes?" This time the man made sure his touch would linger on his shoulder as he rested his hands there. His hands were heavy and like paws as they kept the boy close to the stranger. Octavian added child snatcher to the list of things the man could be.

Octavian shook his head. "My father is dead, sir… And… if you do not mind me saying this, you remind me of him a lot." The boy even added a smile for him to see, he figured that if the man was not put off by _that_ line then no one would miss him if he killed him for trying anything odd.

"You have my sympathy," he squeezed the blonde's shoulder softly as his brows curved in cheap concern, and Octavian fought the urge to just stab him in the gut, 'sympathy? More like pity…' he wondered why as they started back on the trail.

"But enough with this saddening topic, you said there were pigs here?" Green eyes scanned the area, interest peeking in his flitting green eyes.

"Yes, there are many."

"Enough to feed an army, I suppose?" There was a tune of hilarity with this sentence, but Octavian didn't like the underlying tone. "I mean if one wished to fight off the predators that lurk in the bush, of course."

"… You will be surprised how confident the boars are…"

"Yeah..?" The man looked down at the smiling boy, his left hand ruffling his hair rather roughly as he ran it through the follicles.

"…Yes, they are hunters themselves you see… But it just goes to show you, how easily the hunters can become the prey. In the forest, I mean." This statement reward Octavian with a hearty laugh from the man.

"True, true, young lad. True, true." They had circled a few times and he still did not have any information on the man. His heart was racing now as they approached the house. "I did not think it was so far away." The irritated tone hidden behind the façade of exhaustion made Octavian look up and meet the man's gaze steadily.

"I apologize, Sir. For me it is such a short way, I forgot that it may have been tiring for you." The man bit his lip mid-scowl and forced a hurried smile on quickly, his hands were on the boy's shoulders again, but this time he squeezed them harder, as if he wanted to ease the flesh off his bones. Octavian tried his best to act like he felt nothing. "Because I made you walk all this way, I will give you a hot meal instead."

"Is your mother home?" The change of subject was quite unexpected for Octavian, a few moments ago he had only been asking questions that would reveal where he was from. Seeing that his accent was so strong, he did not hesitate but to think that it had betrayed him from the beginning, he thought it only natural that the stranger would want to know where he was from.

He looked up, "My mother works hard, Sir. She will be back when the sun is in the higher quarters of the sky."

"You have breakfast alone? What a cruel mother." Octavian nodded sadly, "Do I dare think that that is the reason you are willing to drag a starving man home?" The stranger almost looked quite amused, but Octavian knew better. There was something in his voice and his eyes as he spoke to him, something that didn't sit right with the boy. As soon as he had indicated that they were getting closer to his home, the brunette had gotten much sloppier and relaxed with his questions; there were even moments when the physical contact made Octavian's skin crawl as the man's thumbs found the nape of his neck and stroked it. Whatever he was going to do, he was going to do it when they were inside.

"Come this way, you can sit here," he opened the cottage door and pulled up a chair from the wooden table, "I will heat up the food." He headed out back to retrieve a chunk from the slab of meat left out in the stone oven. The deer was hunted and killed by his mother, whom, reluctantly, revealed to him the secrets of stalking game such as deer and rabbit. This 'trophy', as his mother called it, was a deer, but despite it being so highly prized by his mother, he could not see where the gleaming pride in which she placed directly to the fleshy hung carcass was set. Where he wished her sweet delight laid was in him. Just before he served the bread and hot meat he picked a white flower from its vine. Its small dainty petals were placed in the cup of wine poured for the man. A sweet berry aroma soon wafted from the crimson water and Octavian took them out, tossing them into a bucket. The white petals were stained as if they were bleeding and the edges coiling as if in pain. "Here you go." The blonde placed their food on the table.

"Mmm," the man took a sip of the wine, "this smells very sweet… but it tastes like wine…"

"It is wine. My mother taught me the traditional way of setting food for special guests."

He looked impressed, "Very extravagant, this venison is amazing too." Octavian smiled politely and ate his own food as he watched the man drink away merrily. He knew the only reason the venison tasted 'amazing' was because the man's senses were slowly dying. He was only relying on memory for taste now, it would not be long before he was relying on his shattered abstract memories like a blind man's trust lied in his crutches. Reality would soon become his nightmare. As Octavian sipped his untainted watered-down wine he smiled at how appropriate the name Quietus insaniam was, the poisonous flower was as white as snow, and yet its name was as innocent as war.

"Sleeping madness…" The man looked up at the boy, he was finished and had just drained the cup.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Now it was Octavian's time to give one word answers. He got up and sat down on the edge of the table near the man, "Nothing, but… I do have a question."

The man nodded, a drunken grin forming across his face as he drank in the boy's image, "If it is a question of my name, you may call me… Calix."

The boy remembered, bizarrely, that the name Calix meant handsome, and fought down the feeling of disgust, the stranger was now even more suspicious to him. This only meant bad news for the stranger, of course. And Calix was very much a _strange_ man. He used the word venison, which was only used by people of much a higher status than a beggar, he was just lying in wait (literally) in the grass at the border of the forest and seemed quite happy that the young boy was alone. Octavian knew, however, that all this didn't say much about that man, except that he was weird. Possibly eccentric... As all beggars were. He sighed, "I was going to ask you if you wanted more wine." He gave a soft smile and hoped that his embarrassment didn't trickle through the cracks of his cool mask.

"I would not mind at all!" Calix laughed and handed him the cup. As he poured the wine, and added the dried red petals of another medicinal flower, he mixed the drink, carefully taking out the soaked petals and placing them in a bowl of water. Scarlet water stilled and he glanced at his reflection. A ghost. As pale and as ruefully vengeful it seemed. Octavian felt guilty for luring the man here, what was he trying to accomplish? He asked himself this repeatedly as he brooded over the watery mirror. Octavian did not have long to mope though, as his doubts were soon materialized into cold hard reality. The cup shattered as it was swiped to the ground. Octavian narrowly dodged the blade of a dagger wielded by the stranger Calix.

"You are fast for one so small…" The boy was in a corner, his back against the wall as the man came closer in cool, nonchalantly placed steps.

"And you are a sneaky one for one so old." Octavian tried to look dangerous, but with each step the man gained power over the boy.

He was free to flaunt this fact as he grinned and laughed at him, "What were you expecting? Leading a stranger into your house?" He cruelly snatched at the boy's shirt and slammed his small body into the wall, "I almost feel sorry for killing you."

"No you don't." His heart was hammering inside his chest as the blonde tried desperately, but to no avail, to escape the man's iron grip.

"Ooooh," the man chuckled, gazing hungrily into the icy blue eyes that blazed up at him with anger, "such a shame… I would have liked to have captured your mother and killed you slowly-"

"And I wanted to have my mother witnessing me kill you slowly, but we can't have everything our way, now can we…?" a wry smile spread across his thin lips, "but we can enjoy the small victories…"

The man found that he could not speak well, "I will be damned if I cannot slaughter a nine year old _boy_," he spat his last word, though there was uncertainty in his green eyes as over his dirty face began to bead and drip cold sweat. He swayed and Octavian took the opportunity to throw him off balance. The man forced himself on him, "You are a boy who needs to learn some manners," this made the boy knee him in the stomach. A thick thud and Calix was on the ground. The boy's words floated over his head as if he were in water.

"You will be damned anyway, as an _eleven_ year old boy, slaughters you." Octavian took the dagger from the man's relaxed hand happily and stepping over his strewn limbs he casually sunk to one knee. "I told you we would have a pig in our house soon, did I not?" Taking his ankles, he barely managed to drag him out back. Calix groaned and whispered and giggled, fully intoxicated with drugs and alcohol. Octavian got him out of the house and into the forest, but was reckless; fingers dug into his leg and soon he was pulled under the drunken stranger.

"Come now, behave, show me that you can behave…" It was all mad chanting really, Octavian struggled under Calix's wavering strength, but found that the man only found pleasure in seeing him squirm. He stopped and looked up at the man who pinned him down. "Good… good.." A ball was forming in his throat as the boy felt himself choking on silence. He felt the tickle of the roughly shaven beard, the wet lips and hot breaths on his neck, and wished that this was not happening. Calix seemed to have been enjoying himself as he stroked Octavian's cheek, kissing his lips gently and then crudely whenever he struggled. "Now, just be a good boy and behave…" His hand gradually went down Octavian's pants as his lips made their way down his neck and to his chest. Green eyes gazed into icy blue eyes and smiled as Calix pressed his lips on Octavian's trembling ones; his tongue ran along their length, begging for opening. The blonde obeyed, but not for the reasons Calix expected. While he was enjoying his time molesting Octavian, the boy had put his hands up the man's shirt and was actually searching for the knife. It was only when Calix wrapped his arms around his waist did he find it. "See, it is not so bad…" The man allowed Octavian to come up for air.

"Reckless…"

"What was that?" Calix had the boy sat up in his lap so he could feel the bulge pressing eagerly against him. His snake-like smile made what Octavian was about to do even more enjoyable.

"You are a reckless pig." In a moment Calix seemed to be laughing, the knife was unfortunately dull and did not slice through his throat as deeply as the boy wanted it to. The familiar sound of gurgling and the sickly sound of stone against the skull sliced through the merry tweets and songs of the birds. Death was strange to Octavian. He did not see it in such detail before. As he calmed himself down the large rock he had gripped in his hands rolled out of them, the sticky crimson waters staining his pale fingers. Octavian looked at the man's face only to take in the grotesque damages he had sustained. His skull had been beaten in, as consequence his left eye had sunken in and was bleeding profusely, the puddle expanded as if to reach for him. To claim him. Octavian made himself stand up and walk over to the dead man. Using the rusty dull blade he made sure to sever the vein and cut through the jugular as best as possible. Just like the deer, the man was still warm. Just like the deer, the man had emptied his bowels, the sour-sweet smell of urine gagged the air, and just like the deer, the man stared up to the empty grey skies. Looking into the Calix's green eyes one last time he closed them, "You reckless… poor… pig…" Octavian wondered why tears came to his eyes as he beheld this grisly scene. "Why were you waiting for me in the grass like a snake…?"

After having searched the body he had found a paper, stained, but still legible.

Find and terminate subject(s) if they cannot and will not comply. The child does not matter. Convince the Sybil woman of our cause. If you fail, there will be III more. Our success is riding on this, do not fail me, Cetin.

Your soon-to-be Senate,

Cassius Sypris Pectoris

That was what it said. Octavian found nothing else on the man, but a golden ring. A lion with black jeweled eyes stared back at him with no remorse for its wearer. "What does this mean...?" Uncontrollable shivers ran down his spine and made him gasp as the wind began to chill. It was still daylight, and yet, as the boy stood there, his clothes blood-sodden and his face pale with worry, he felt colder than ever.

He dipped a bucket into the blackness and brought up some water from the pit that caught all the rain water from this past week. Moss had grown in the moist environment, creating a sort of pond almost complete with a flinty scent. Harsh soap that stung and burned his skin could not seem to cut deep enough, as the memory of the man's empty gaze and bloody mess of a skull was still fresh in his mind; cold rushed down on his naked body as the boy dumped the water over himself. The soap could not clean his mind, so he would have to do it himself. Standing there at the back of the house he looked at the dark forest that stared back at him with indifferent silence. The trees tall and erect like soldiers proudly looking onwards. It had witnessed his act of murder. And it would keep his secret. Throwing a thick towel made of animal hide over his wet wire thin shoulders, he shuddered, not only from the bone chilling wind that caressed his nakedness, but from fear and delight. The blood, he convinced himself, was quite beautiful to see. "Just roses… that were blooming… from his eyes and mouth…" And as he waited for his mother to return in the dampening afternoon, he put some red roses in a vase on the table. He watched earnestly as they wilted away through glassy blue eyes, the ice in them shattering and melting into nothingness. Their fallen crimson petals, coiling up as if they were in pain.

A man with short dark russet hair and a large build came sauntering down the dirt road, his stride was slow enough for you to think he was taking a stroll, but powerful and meaningful enough for you to think he was not to be troubled. The woods that banked both sides of this dirt road was not silent at all, in fact it was still murmuring its chanting lullaby of chattering birds and the symphony of cicadas. The mornings were cooler than the nights now that it was summer, but that did not lighten his mood. He was supposed to find a young woman with dark hair and of the east. He took this mission under the impression that it would have been easy, but she was harder to find than he thought. He even heard that she was travelling with a young albino who dabbled in dark magic. "Such bullshit should be banned from being spread in the ranks… those idiots believe anything they hear…" the brunette grumbled, slightly annoyed that his men, trained soldiers, were starting ridiculous rumors just because one of their best infiltrators had not come back with the Sybil, or at least with the woman's head on his spear. He was hoping for the woman really, as he did hear that she was very good in bed. As he walked down the dirt road he glanced behind his back. "Third time…" He felt eyes watching him from the shrouded forest.

"Help!" The sound of another voice made the soldier scan the area, his hand was on his sword, ready to attack. He heard it again, "Help!" A young boy ran to the streets, frantically yelling for help. Chuckling, the soldier waved.

"Hello! What makes you holler in the morning, boy?" His smile faltered when he came close. Is that...? He asked himself.

"My mother, sir, please! Please help my mother." The young boy begged him, his face stained with tears as he sobbed.

"… Of course, show me what ails your mother?" The brunette couldn't believe his luck. He was worried that word had gotten out about his arrival in the village, but it seems that he was lucky. The boy had light golden hair and pale skin as well as fair eyes. He fit the description his own soldiers were reciting so often. Did the boy really practice dark magic? His skinny demeanor and sharp features were certainly odd, thought the man. He noticed a well and frowned. "What is this boy?"

"My mother, she fell in and hit her head, sir, please, would you help her?" The soldier remembered the Sybil. She had been rumored to be travelling with a child as pale as a ghost. An albino. He tried not the scuff and laugh when they boy referred to the beautiful woman he had heard about as his mother.

"I will get her out, but you must follow me down there."

"W-why?"

"Do you want to save your mother or not, boy?" His voice was harsh and impatient as he swerved around and barked at the pale boy; he was very glad when the little boy stiffened and headed for the well. The decent was dark and wet, the air heavy with moisture and cold, but he bore the discomfort well. He was a soldier after all. When he finally was told that they were at the bottom, the brunette let go of the cobble-stone walls, and for a few exhilarating seconds he fell, feeling nothingness underneath him, and then. Thud. His feet hit water and then sand. "Where is your mother?" He thought the darkness of the well was to his advantage, allowing him to draw his sword without the pale boy noticing. "Boy?" He waded in the waist deep water.

"Yes,?" The sound of the frail and soft voice was behind him, "She is right in front of you, please help her!"

The soldier grinned and raised his sword as he felt something against his leg. He brought it down in a flash, but his sword bounced off with a ping and out of his hands, "What the-" His words were cut off by gurgling. Blood gushed from his throat in time with his rapidly beating heart, breaths were harder to take in, and soon even his struggles gave way to stillness. His eyes were blank as they stared at nothing. The young boy, soiled with blood and moss and muck that clung to his hair and clothes, got out of the well, placed the bloodied knife in the wheeling basket and walked away calmly. As if nothing had happened. He absent-mindedly brushed off most of the grime, but his focus was what he was turning in his small hands. A golden ring with a lion with bejeweled black eyes staring into nothingness sat in his palm.

"Two more to go…" There was an unnerving underlying tone of acceptance in the child's voice as he sang softly something his mother used to sing him to sleep. A limp body was dumped into the dark waters of the old well, but if you looked closely, down in its murky depths, you can see the fragments of rose petals floating atop, before they wilt and join the rotting body beneath the surface the scent of life and bloom waft up the shaft. Cold crimson exists not only as a color of roses, but of revenge.


	7. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 05: SNOW LADEN FORESTS**

Pain. No, that wasn't right. It was anguish he was feeling, the pain was from his chest as it threatened to explode, his heart suffocated below his ribs as he sank deeper into the inky blackness. Octavian almost wished that it would stop beating all together. As he pressed his back to the cold wall behind him he tried not to breathe, there was something in here with him. With his frayed senses he craned his neck to look at the blurry fire blazing in the background. Where was he? He looked around but all he saw was the skeletal remains of buildings reaching up angrily to the skies, like shards of broken glass they stabbed at it, as if avenging those loud voices that echoed fragmented in the muted darkness, sad, moaning, and wailing in grief. Octavian stiffened when he felt it again. The cold scraping of his back, it was as if someone took their fingernails and slowly ran them down his spine, except this time the fingernails left a lasting burn that he couldn't escape. When it was over his bloody knees hit dirt as he panted and shuddered, his coughing soon turned into a spluttering dry heave. There was nothing but the choking smell of ash and death, the stench was overwhelming, but the sight of the bodies littering the streets was worse. As he licked his dry lips he gagged and spat the dust that coated them unto the ground. Scrawny limbs forced themselves up and the boy, clutching his stomach made his way through the devastated area; nothingness was his reward. The constant voices in the silence made him shiver. He did not wish to think about them, but they kept creeping up behind him, their voices like tongues of fire, licked his ear and demanded his attention. "_Die. Die. Burn. Burn._" That was their chant, some choosing only to scream "_MURDERER!"_

Octavian finally had enough, they had made him cry when they dragged him under that sea of blood, they made him cry when they invaded his mind, their boney fingers prying into the exposed cracks, they even made him cry as their piercing alien eyes swarmed around him in a malicious mass of hurt. He begged and begged, but they were only concerned with their own hatred, grief and vengeance. The little boy endured it as the voices soon merged into emptiness and plunged him deep within this freakish nightmare. The old tears stained his dirty cheeks, but his eyes were dry and red. He stopped walking and faced the giant pulsating flame, "How am I a murderer!?" He cried out.

"_MURDERER! MURDERER! MURDERER!"_ As they persisted Octavian saw the background change from that of his burning city to the oasis, near the waters stained with crimson were flies buzzing happily to and from the rotting flesh of a man on the river bank. It changed. Materializing the scenes of horror, the forest which cradled the withering carcass of another man as the song of birds filled the air sweetly, and finally the well. That time Octavian had been merciless; the man's body was swarming with bugs that ate until it was just an unrecognizable blob of meat sitting in black soup of blood and muddy-water. The sight gave him pleasurable chills. "_MURDER, MURDER, MURDERER, MURDERER…!_" The hoarse voices echoed the chant in the darkness.

"FINE!" The boy shook as he heard himself bellow out his answer, "I am a murderer…" he felt himself choke on his tears again as he let go all the tension that was building up inside of him. It was like someone yanked a plug out from a cracking dam and the waters rushed forward with everything it had. As he looked around the scene began to change, and instead of a swift pulsating motion, the unstable images fell into the shadows and seemed to be swept away by dry hot summer winds. Grains of sand grazed his cheek as sand blew into his face. A scene of sandy serenity replaced that of blackened misery. It was deathly silent, but at least the sun was shining. Octavian suddenly looked up, panicking. Should he be able to look straight into the star's brilliance? "Wha-" He panted, sweat and exhaustion set in as he stared up into the empty blue sky and gazed at the lone sun looking back at him.

"Octavian…" It was another voice. Someone was calling him… but more gently, though it seemed important. "Octavian…" There it was again. A melodious, calm and husky voice. However, as the boy looked around, but he could not find the person. "Octavian." With that last call he woke up.

Breathing was hard all of a sudden, almost as if his chest weighed a ton, he tried to lift his arms and legs and failed. As he stared up at the ceiling he sighed, heavy limbs wouldn't carry him far and as he turned to his side, borrowing into the blankets to shun the cold pale light of morning peeking out of the curtains, his stomach gargled and rumbled, a soft sigh escaped his trembling lips, "And… I'm hungry… Great," he moaned exasperatedly, "Can't you wait a little while longer…" A feisty growl was his answer: No. "…Of course not… Because that'd be ridiculous…" The room was still dark, but only because the thick curtains were the only thing keeping in the warmth and silence of night despite the rising morning. As the boy slowly inched to the edge of the bed and placed his bare feet on the ground, ice shot up his nerves, causing him to gasp and shiver. He retreated back in the safe blankets, "Why is it so cold!?" He exclaimed through chattering teeth. After a few agonizingly hungry minutes the boy sighed and jumped out of bed; shuffling quickly across the wooden floors he made his way to the window and yanked the curtains open. Brilliant White shone through. Blankets of nature, white and pure and soft, spread over the greenery that was once there a few days ago. Icicles hung like decorations on the dark woodland trees, their evergreen sprinkled with due and frost of the misty air, even though there was the occasional plummet of a water droplet off of a leaf, bouncing off one after the other, everything seemed quite still. Only the chirping birds that flittered to and fro reminded Octavian of his nightmare. The small sparrows were singing happily over his head when he bludgeoned that man to death in the forest's confidentiality, and as he stared out into nothingness he shivered finally as the cold nipped at his skin eagerly. "Snowing… Already?" The blonde inhaled the crisp sharp air and closed his eyes, but, his forced serenity was interrupted by his growling belly, "Fine, right, I need to eat."

In just a few minutes he had made himself something to eat, preferring something simple as he was so sluggish. He inhaled the bread and cheese, downing everything with milk, and prepared for another one of his little adventures. Finishing his chores was the boring part, but he didn't have many so it didn't bother him that much; once he was finished with his bed he stuffed bread and cheese wrapped in waxy paper into his bag, along with a knife, a pencil, a bundle of small pure white flowers that he saved in a small bag, and a make-shift map that he made of the area. He had several now. Each one he circled and made an X across the place he killed one of the mercenaries, and with each cross he noticed that they all came from one direction. South West. The mercenaries had circled and cut into the woods for cover before making their way into town to gain information on their location. Octavian frowned as he examined his newest map. There were crosses everywhere, it was hard not to say that he was getting a little obsessed… "I'll stop for today… Maybe I can go see if the wolves are near the northern region…" but even as the boy said this and traced the path he would take with his finger, his blue eyes wandered over to the large circle on his right. He had set traps in all the other areas but that one. That small area of bush was yet to be checked. "No." Blonde hair swept over his brow and eyes slightly as the boy shook his head, "Wolves. You are looking for wolves." Chanting this to himself he shouldered his pack and headed out the door.

Trudging on through the snow, the boy found a tree to take a break under, he panted, shivering when he saw the soft mist that was his breath. He blew into his hands in a futile attempt to warm his numb fingers. "So you guys weren't back there…" Octavian talked to himself as he scratched off the area which he circled, "so where else would you be…?" The wolves had moved. Octavian knew that they would only relocate themselves if a predator threatened their young so as he packed up his stuff and headed where he last saw the wolves he kept an eye out for any signs of something stalking in the bushes. He wanted to catch a glimpse of this predator. His fingers grasped at the thorny bushes and pulled them apart, it revealed nothing unusual really, just some scraps of carcass that the wolves did not eat and some broken twigs. His blue eyes scanned the area, but he sighed after a few minutes, "What could you possibly be running from…?" There was a hint of mockery in his voice as he smiled, "You are wolves, but I guess that doesn't mean you aren't dogs too…"

"Ah, but wolves are very different from dogs." The boy spun around, his heart caught in his throat as he withheld a gasp. There was a young man leaning on a tree behind him. His soft smile contrasted greatly with his piercing dark eyes.

"How long have you been there?" The question tumbled out of half trembling lips.

"Now I know the stories are true." The brunette stepped closer, ignoring the boy's question. And with each step forward the boy compelled himself to step back, his pale blue eyes watched the man for any sudden movements. He continued to talk, obviously unconcerned about Octavian, "Your face _is_ as white as a ghoul's," a smile laced with perfectly white teeth gave the blonde shivers, "Now, I wonder if impaled ghouls bleed…" There was a glimmer in the man's eyes that frightened Octavian, he knew by how the guy walked and talked that he was well respected, the golden lion ring on his finger would have revealed his rank, but Octavian could not spot any rings on the stranger whatsoever. What was a respected man doing in the woods so early in the morning? Octavian thought of all the other 'respected' men that he'd met for the past month and tried not to look as worried as he felt—After all… he was only ever able to kill them out of convenience… forest, wells, wet banks… all he did was use the environment against his opponent, he never accomplished anything by brute force. And as he eyed the dagger the stranger twirled effortlessly, Octavian decided that he didn't want to stick around to chat.

"Um, yes, that is an… interesting question…" Octavian held up the whites of his hands and tried to look genuinely sorry, "Sorry to say this, but, I personally would have no idea if ghouls bleed… Never met one, never stabbed one…" With each pause he backed away slowly. He would have bolted if the brunette didn't say something strange. He swore he recognized it for a second.

"Aut vincere, aut mori," the smile on the man's face reminded Octavian of a snake's.

"So… I am guessing that means we can't be friends…?"

"Are you insane?" The soldier went on, laughing at the boy, "I am the son of Zeus, and I fail no mission." The boy covered his mouth to hide the smile forming underneath. "What?" He asked barked.

"Nothing, nothing-"

"You will tell me now! Other than your inevitable death by my hand, what is so funny fool?"

"…Ah, it's nothing really… I just find it hard to believe you."

There was silence. "How dare you!-"

"How dare I? I know of your gods. I do not think such a measly insignificant young _boy_ can be the son of the great-Zeus," apparently mockery did not sit too well with the soldier, as Octavian spoke he could see his nostrils started to flare. "Sorry, I just don't see the family resemblance." He shrugged, "Do not be disheartened, people used to think I was the son of a Cyclops-"

"That's not the same thing!" The man shouted at Octavian and stamped his foot as if he was a toddler not getting his way. "My father-"

"-Has not claimed you. You are not a son to anyone unless they accept you as such!" The words lingered in a mocking echo as the boy ran away from the scene. He didn't want to have anything to do with the man. Swiftly making his way through the bushes he started to slow down to a brisk jog.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

The sing-songy tone of the stranger's voice gave Octavian the creeps, blood left his cheeks as they paled, it was then he realized how much danger he was in. That demigod-wannabe was the predator the wolves were afraid of. And now he actually managed to anger it. He stooped behind a tree, trying to pant as quietly as possibly as he hid. Everything was shaking now, his hands trembled and his knees felt like they were going to run away and leave the rest of his body behind. There was nothing but the sound of leaves fluttering in the wind, but Octavian knew better than to let his guard down. The birds had stopped singing, which could only mean something dangerous was creeping in the shadows. White fingers gingerly took the dagger from the satchel and gripped the hilt, his heart was beating so hard that he was afraid the man would hear it. The blood pounding in his ears didn't make things any easier. "Fine." He glared at the shaking dagger, it reflected back his own pale face, shattered blue eyes and all. "Let the hunt begin." Counting to three he raced off once again, but this time to lead the man to the traps he set. He only hoped that he could run fast enough.

Small footprints sunk the pure white snow into muddy puddles, revealing the dead leaves if only for a moment before the snow tumbled over their earthy carcasses; it lead into the forest, where the birds sang and chatted idly and the green leaves of towering trees dripped with chilling due, it was here that heavy footprints traced the smaller ones. Deeper and deeper into the woods. Its overwhelming size and stature bent with slumber still, even as morning's light pierced the high branches and filtered through as light green fractures unto the wet ground. The air was still and chill, and the snow was a blanket across the forest. The small sparrows the only ones to wake in the early light and sing of sweet pleasure and ease. Yes. The forest slept. Throughout her vast expanses very few creatures were able to stir in this quiet woodland laden with snow; even the screams of a pitiless talion couldn't be heard through the muffled yawn of nature. Yet, this white blanket she so daintily adorned upon herself pined for the harsh bright colors of war. As the colorful pigments that once flourished in splashes across the bushes and grasses were now muted by white and buried underneath the icy snow, it pined for crimson blooms. It pined for blood.


	8. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 06: THE SILVER THREADS**

Octavian hated it when he couldn't breathe. As he ran, his heart pounding in his chest, he bounded through the bushes and slippery mud of the forest floor, wondering if he could take a break. Between the running and barely dodging random thrashes of a heavy-handed blade, he had kept ahead of his chaser, but now he was slowing down. "Maybe he was not as angry as I thought…"

The soldier definitely wasn't leaving anything to mystery, "You COWARD!" The voice of his pursuer bellowed behind him.

"Okay… he's _very_ angry…" The blonde skidded to a halt and held his breath. The bushes behind him broke away, leaves and twigs skittering to the side as the soldier exploded from the bushes, sword in fist raised high and warrior scream etched into his merciless face. Dark eyes scanned the area hastily, when Octavian flung a pebble a distance away the sound captured their attention. So Octavian stood there, hidden behind the trees (so thankful for his slenderness), wondering whether to laugh or cringe at the sight of his enemy barreling in hot pursuit, of, well, no one. Though, the sounds of him cursing and enthusiastically hacking away at trees made it clear to the boy that soldier or not, that man was a pain in the ass. He needed to go. One, heartbeat, two, heartbeat, three, heartbeat— and so it continued. As soon as his heart rate calmed he swiftly hid behind a large tree, checking his position and then moved on to the next tree. And so, unbeknownst to the Hunter, who had already fallen victim to arrogance, became the prey. Octavian stalked him from a distance, his dagger clenched tightly in his white-knuckled fist; after a few minutes he lost visual, but calculated that his prey should be within the radius.

On his map he had landmarks, each one with specific relation to one another. The area was a giant woodland, but there were god-sized trees in the middle, and an underhanging cliff that stretched out like a cow's tongue towards the center, he had explored that area before. The cliff was not stable so he marked it on his map as a Danger Zone, with a big fat red X. He also marked off the other interesting places he ran across during his little explorations (the wolf hunting ground, creatures-cave, bird brook, etc.). Usually, the blonde made it a habit to avoid places with a minimal survival rate, but under the circumstances, he figured he didn't mind paying those special zones a visit. They were headed for the center but at the moment, were closest to the cliff; Octavian guessed that they had to be close enough now and slowed down. "Let him rampage a little longer… I need him exhausted…" Inhaling deeply, he realized how bone-chillingly cold the morning air was now. His nostrils burned and his throat felt raw. As if someone tore out his larynx and freeze-dried it. Covering his mouth, he muffled a cough, and with disgust he spat out the slime unto the snow. He cleared his throat as silently as he could, forcing back down the urge to dry heave and instead he focused above. Ice crystals draped the tree branches like ancient ice ornaments, above him, he noticed how the light shone through them, individually casting a rainbow unto the blank snow. The forest seemed docile enough now that the birds finally flittering about and found it safe enough to return to their idle chatter; Octavian's knees buckled and he slid down into the white. Hoping that it would engulf him. Bird songs equal safety. Usually. Cold sweat poured down his forehead. "Why did I bring this upon myself…" he reverted back to his native tongue, loving the comfort that entwined nostalgia with every word as he spoke it softly. Suddenly, he felt warmth, gliding down his cheek. After he brushed the tear away, his pale fingers came into view, stained with blood. Had he cut his cheek running into the bushes? "What am I doing here…?" Brazen, he wiped another tear away with his sleeve and rubbed his reddening nose. Madness was sinking its claws into his flesh and pulling him deeper. Startled by the sudden flash of fear, so familiar, it took him deeper and deeper into a memory littered with dead eyes, screams, _fire_… "Stop it!" Shaking himself, a few droplets of melted snow adorning his messy blonde hair showered around him, and he held his shoulders. "You're going mad… stop it. Forget." His lip trembled, "Forget everything. Please…" He was even talking to himself. Forcing out a nervous laugh, he said, "Careful Octavian, any more of this and you'll end up like those beggars in town…" He shook his head one more time and sighed, frost blew out in front of him, hypnotically swirling and evaporating into nothingness. Blue eyes closed themselves to the world as he slowed his breathing further, "There is no one here" he whispered, "No one here…" The assurance was thin but he had to calm down, he'd have another fit and be at even more of a disadvantage.

In the darkness of his eyelids a flash of light caught his attention, they flew open, as he broke out of his meditation with a start. What was that? The birds had evacuated, the forest was silent, and the snow was white. Octavian hoped that it was just his imagination, but the bright blanket of snow seemed to pulse angrily. Hungrily. As if it pined for something to stain its pure surface. Blood. Octavian felt like he couldn't breathe. The snow wanted blood. He didn't know how he came to that conclusion, but he was sure of it. The trees were empty and the air was mute, causing the blonde to panic. Frantically scanning the area, he forced himself to get up.

The loud crunch and snap of a stick echoed through the bush. Octavian rushed away from the tree too quickly and stumbled backward, falling on his butt with a grunt. His breath was heavy, the fog of cold mist appeared just as fast as it dissipated, as he crawled backwards while his eyes scoured the dark shadows of the trees desperately. He managed to get up. Weighed down by his sodden clothes, he shivered violently. The snow had melted and hung as slush or water within the thick fabric, but still seemed to freeze his naked skin underneath. "Damn it." He coughed through chattering teeth, "Damn it," he continued to look around and saw nothing but white frosted woods, he heard nothing but the sound of his own haggard breathing. "Damn it _all_!" He lifted his hands to his face to warm them but stopped half-way; in horror he stood there with his trembling hands. Pale skin had turned blue and black, glistening with a sickly yellow were the skin wrinkled at the torn edges of the cuts. Flashes of fire and screaming echoed in his head, whistling through the air as if they were real; then came the blood. Bodies strewn on the floor, scattered in the fray and chaos. Now, as the boy hyperventilated and drifted away from that world, the only red he saw was the fresh blood that was just beginning to clot around the wound. _His_ wound. A small but frighteningly deep gash across his palm stared back at him.

Octavian tried to focus on what was relevant. His hands were numbing— and with so many cuts littering them, it was a wonder he didn't realize it. With access to his open flesh, his blood dried up and ice crept in, taking refuge within his veins. The cold had already began eating away the remaining nerves in his left hand that actually tries to respond. He had to get moving, he told himself, his right hand, was starting showing signs of freezing over and it was only a matter of time before he turned into a skinny icicle. His limbs weighed a ton, growing heavier and heavier with each step. Anxiety pulsed within his blood, increasing with every whine-ish cackle that trickled out from the bushes; those same bushes either rustle their leaves or conveniently snap a twig whenever he felt safe, they completely shrouded the troublemaker(s) in shadowy obscurity as they romped and scurried about, apparently amused by Octavian's terror. Surely that was not a good combination—Snapping twigs and anxiety. Of course, there was a possibility that Octavian was going mad, but he didn't want to think about that. Expecting death at every turn was _much_ more interesting. 'Besides', the boy thought, 'down here, the wolves rule the forests, not the sole lion… They hunt the hunters…' "_We_, hunt the hunters…"

Octavian moved on, working his screaming muscles to death as he trudged through the snow and slowly made his way out of the clearing. Ignoring the crunch of slush and ice underfoot, he swiftly snaked around the trees, running as fast as he could north. The cottage was just a mile away. "Maybe he just left for home…" He thought out loud. The hoarse voice frightened the boy, it was his own, he realized, that he was listening to.

Snow gave way to another clearing, the bright white was finally interrupted by the abrupt glare of green. Leaves and undergrowth, that were sheltered from the snow by high branches, spread away from the deep forest. The forest center was a bleak and white world, but as soon as you arrived at its outer circle, nature seemed to melt into view. Octavian settled here for a while, leaning on a tree that faced the center of the forest. Wrapping his arms around himself, he tried to stop shivering. Glancing up, he noticed that the sun was high, morning was just about finished, and yet the sun stood still, its unwavering gaze made the boy uneasy. So he ignored it. It took a while, but pins and needles pricked his hands, fingers, toes, cheeks, and other delicate parts, signaling the return of— PAIN! With a thud, he stumbled back into the tree he had once leaned on, the impact jarred his bones, but he didn't care. All he could do was try and keep his racing heartbeat from exploding his chest while he cradled his left hand. It was shaking and was clasped tightly, as if by reflex. So as he, gingerly, opened it up, he sucked air through his teeth and tried not to whimper. Octavian just wanted to go home, drink some tea, curl up underneath his nice warm covers and die. Heck, even now, as he sat in the snow, his body shuddering violently, he wanted to settle for grassy-slush and frozen ground for his pillow. Those dead moldy leaves looked pretty soft right now in his state.

Suddenly, ice blue eyes looked up sharply. Did something call to him? An unexpected gust of wind bustled about in the still air, carrying the scent of dust and sea. Strangely. It suddenly picked up, increasing in speed and unkempt wildness, and in seconds, swept some dead, moldy, leaves in his face—those same dead moldy leaves that he was fantasizing into a pillow. He frowned, "Okay… Fine. Why don't you just make a branch fall on me, huh?" His frail voice called out to the skies; as he panted he heard it again and swiftly turned to his right. Nothing. Nothing but dark trees standing in salute to each other, muffling the cries of the beasts that traveled in their ranks. "Thank you _so_ much for that scare!"

"You're welcome." Blue eyes widened at the sight of the man emerging from behind a tree, sword drawn and ready. Too late was the message received by his hands and feet. They were slow. As if somehow the air turned into tar. Handle met face at a frightening speed and, _crack! —_ As a result of the force, the blow to his jaw sent him hurling into the snow. It was at that moment, he thought, 'I should have just stayed in bed this morning…'

"Mmmfhh," a muffled whimper escaped his cold lips as the heat of the pain across his cheek leaked out into the snow, the wound was licked by ice crystals, as the ice crystals, the snow, eagerly drank his blood. Quickly wiping away the scarlet slush off his cheek, he tried to get up but his leg failed him. He started crawling, but his arms ached. Hearty laughter echoed behind him. "Boy, did you really think that I could have lost you that easily? I am the son of Jupiter. I lose no fight."

The boy's frantic soon died down to reveal exasperated desperation; everything that he did lead to this moment. He couldn't afford any mistakes. Octavian struggled to his feet and faced the soldier with seeming acceptance, "Okay, son of Zuzzi…- whatever his name is- Oh, oh, I mean Seuss?"

"Zeus! You empty-headed dog!" The soldier interrupted.

"Okay! Fine. You win…" Spitting out the salty blood from his busted lip into the snow he looked the man in the eye, "Kill me." The right of his face was glowing with red hot pain, and blood began to cake over on his face, but it was like sticky syrup on his black and blue fingers, it ran down his hands in small drying streams. With the dirt and grass in his hair and on his face, he guessed that the soldier probably thought he was a beggar trying to kill him for his valuables. "I have nothing else to live for…" The blonde started sewing together the story. Giving the soldier hints that this pathetic dirty beggar was all he was. "My life has been that of a rat, nothing more… I have made a mistake trying to kill you-

"And what for? To sell the little things I have?-"

"Those _little_ _things_, are worth more than my _life_." The contempt in Octavian's voice surprised him (as well as the soldier), but he went on, "Those _little_ things, would have made my life easier. Much easier…" As he spoke, the boy dug his fingers into his stomach, "I am so tired of being hungry, so tired of being cold… But there was nothing I could do…"

The soldier frowned and scoffed, "I feel no sympathy for those who wish to kill me."

A groan lead to a coughing laugh and then to a weak shudder, hugging himself for warmth the boy rolled his eyes, "Don't take it personally. I see opportunity. I take it." He rubbed his red nose and sniffled, "Anyone would do the same thing." Octavian emulated the beggars he saw on their travels, he copied their broken speech, their estranged mannerisms, like licking their lips too often or darting his eyes around.

The soldier seemed to buy into his act as he looked at him with disgust, "Stop your griping. Maybe I will kill you, for wasting my time."

"I was asking for that in the first place." The soldier came closer, a glare that could melt iron glowed in his direction but Octavian did not move, instead he continued to talk with an empty gaze looking onwards to the forest, "Oy. What were you doing here anyway? I heard… I heard soldiers were looking for these people who escaped…"

"That is _none_ of your concern."

"Oh? But it is. It is if you want it to… Maybe I can help you, for a small fee I can—". The man advanced and Octavian held up his left hand, its scrawny scarred form trembled, "I swear, I can find them! They should be around here… somewhere-"

"Somewhere?" The soldier gripped the boy's collar roughly, shaking him around like a rag doll. Octavian kept his eyes on the forest, bracing himself for another hit. "Boy, all are destined to die. For one so young to die at my hand, would be a tragedy, yes?" Those benevolent words were as cold and sharp as ice, but a thin barrier that barely held back the burning flames of malevolence within the man's wrathful eyes. Octavian knew better. "I do not like killing children." Lies. This was _not_ mercy killing. No. That insatiable lust for blood and violence glowing in the man's eyes were as unmistakably as a flame in the night. That flickering fire slowly ate away at the man's reserve. Refusing to be denied. _Thwack_! The boy lurched forward, clutching at his stomach, tears pricking his dry eyes. On his knees he heaved and sputtered as the warm, bitter, liquid rushed up his throat, but didn't get a chance to finish, another blow from the man's boot smashed his head, twisting it to the side and he crumpled into the slushy mess. His right arm tucked underneath him, he struggled to move away as the footsteps got closer and closer. A heavy boot dug into the back of his neck. Forcing him to breathe snow and dirt into his starved lungs, he gasped and muttered something, the weight was crushing him. "What? I couldn't hear that. Say again?"

"…G-Get off, ovff, me!" Octavian was reward with a stomp on his back that sent him into a murmuring shock; he cried out, but then bit his lip hard enough to summon blood from their blue shivering vessels. "Get off of me! - Ah! I am sorry, I am sorry, please… Please. I-I'll do anything!" Gulping down the bile, he coughed, "Please, just let me live. I will take you to that lady… Her son should be somewhere around here!" When he felt the pressure ease off his spine he slowed his hysteric breathing and closed his eyes, tears streaking his ghastly cheeks.

"What?" The soldier snickered, "You useless dog!" He laughed at Octavian and allowed him to lift his head up from the snow. Swaggering with his sword, he pointed it accusingly at him and sneered, "So you sell out others to enemies? No wonder you're alone." Now that hurt. Octavian flinched and it seemed to catch the brunette's attention, he bent down and made him look him in the eye, slowly he spoke to him, as if he were an idiot, "No one loves traitors. They will burn in Tartarus… You afraid of fire, boy?" Small lips trembled, maybe it was because of the cold, or maybe, it was because deep down, Octavian knew the soldier was right. Not about him selling out anyone— the soldier was just being a cocky bastard—but the fact that he was very much alone. Or at least he felt that way a lot recently.

"No one likes liars either…" He weakly suggested.

"…Yeah?" A grin showcased perfect teeth, "Everyone lies you rat."

"I guess so…" Octavian felt the man's grip on his chin loosen, he pulled it free and rubbed it tentatively, "I will take you to the boy first." Again he spat out some blood from his mouth.

Repulsed, the soldier wrinkled his nose and nodded, "Hurry up. I don't have all day." He shoved him forward with his sword hilt, ramming it into the boy's back to make him walk faster.

"Alright, alright!" Octavian lead the man through the snow towards the cottage, and while they travelled into the forest, the soldier found it necessary to poke him in his back with the blade every few moments or so to remind him that betrayal would mean certain death—as if he didn't know that already. A small smile made its way onto his lips. _He_ knew that betrayal would be rewarded with death, but of course, those glowing eyes in the bushes knew nothing about betrayal. Just death. "You know…" The boy glanced up at the soldier behind him, "You really should be nicer to the people who help you."

"You tried to kill me."

"You are a blunt one, aren'tchya…" Octavian added in his thoughts, 'blunt in intelligence too…' He continued speaking after kicking aside a stone that he tripped on, "Well, that was before we knew each other so well—". He slowed down and glanced behind him.

"Walk!"

"I am! I am, calm down." Octavian tottered forward when the man shoved him. "It was just an idea." Octavian flicked a strand of hair out of his eye, "And besides. We were both trying to kill each other- watch out for that root there-"

"Yeah, I know."

"—this bush just gets thicker and thicker from here on out. A very good hiding spot, if you ask me—"

"And I _didn't_ ask you, so shut up."

"Wow. You know what you remind me of?" The boy could hear a sharp, irritated, sigh behind him and forced a smile from his face. "You remind me of… one of those kids who end up catching the end of their own blade."

It was then that the soldier erupted with anger. "What?" His sharp copper brown eyes bore holes into the boy's back. If there was any chance of living after escorting the soldier, it was just chopped down to zero. "I let you live to lead me to the boy—"

"—Who is probably well aware of our presence now because of your yelling."

A rough hand gripped the cloth, and a little bit of skin, around his chest, as the man pulled him within in ear-shot and whispered, "_I_ let you live. _Me_. If I wanted to kill you for insulting me, then what makes you think I will hold back?"

"You are holding back now." After a few seconds of silence the man slammed the blonde into a tree, knocking the wind out of him. "Ugh, alright kid-"

"I'm not a child! _You_ are the child! So why don't you act like one and obey my orders?"

"Because unlike you, _this_ child knows where to go. And _this_ child has a plan, other than just barging in and waving your blade around like a drunken fool!" Octavian snarled, his mad blue eyes unwavering. He whispered, "That's what you want right? To finish this and go home?" A nod from the soldier confirmed Octavian's suspicions: the soldier was going to go home, relay the information he had collected about the country he occupied, and then in a few months a platoon of soldier would be knocking at the country's door. Well, burning… burning the country's door. And its crops, its livestock, its houses, and the people... He could almost imagine their numbers, much rumored, to be enough to wipe out a whole city. Swallowing hard, he forced the ball of bad memories into a corner and locked it away in the recesses of his mind. This was no time to think about stuff like that. With his suspicions being correct, he figured that killing him and his mother was just a side job… Meaning those two other countries that they fled, probably already had soldiers bearing down on their borders. Or invading them.

"Hey." Octavian scowled. Why didn't his mother tell him anything? "Hey. Kid." The boy didn't understand. Why did his mother not tell him something so important? All the secrecy, the 'jobs' in town, the reason she always came home late, all the whispering whenever they both went shopping and she went off on her own to 'talk'… It all made sense now. She was gathering information on the soldiers as much as the soldiers were gathering information about them, _and_ the country. "Hey! Kid." Octavian snapped out of it and found himself being shaken by the shoulders and looking into the soldier's sharp eyes. "I lost your attention." The young man began, "Maybe I shall put you out of your misery. Your mind is as broken as your body." Shoving the man away, the blonde brushed himself off. He was just about to say something when a rustle in the bushes reminded him that his friends wouldn't wait any longer for their present.

They snarled quietly, Octavian could sense them, their eyes, their blood-lust, and their hunger. The blonde's mad blue eyes swirled. He saw something. He was so sure of it. Silver? No. yes. It was silver. Lines, strands of it, wrapping around his wrist and the soldier's neck, they pulsated and spoke in so many words and voices at the same time his brain felt like it was going to explode. "What is WRONG with you!?" The man tossed him aside, but the boy kept upright, tears running down his face as he held his head, enduring the excruciating pain. Then all in an instant. Gone. No pain, no lines, and no voices. Hyperventilation had taken place without Octavian's knowledge, so he tried to calm himself down by taking deep breathes. If he didn't he knew he would pass out. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and he shivered. Words that the soldier had previously said now started to float into his head, but weren't registering, the forest seemed still now as it began snowing lightly. Vacant blue eyes regarded the soldier frostily and—

Smiled madly.


End file.
